Have Been and Could Be
by Baje Barra
Summary: When Morgana has Gwaine moved to a different cell to have some fun, she doesn't end up liking what he has to say. The story of what went on in Camelot during the Season Four finale. Mergana, Merwaine, or Morgwaine, depending how you look at it.
1. Chapter 1

**My first Merlin fic, hello!  
>Okay, so I honestly don't know how long this is gonna go or what I'm really doing with it. I got obsessed with the show and have been working on this for fun ever since. I'm taking classes in writing at my university and I basically wanted to do some character-study work, and I thought a good exercise for that would be fanfiction and trying to fit myself into the perspective of a character that's not orginially my own. I have a lot of fun writing for Morgana, there are so many gaps in the show that fanfic is letting me fill...oooh, I'm so excited.<strong>

**Pairings are all implied, especially Mergana, Merwaine, and Morgwaine (I ship all three) and I'm not sure where this fic is going to fall most strongly yet. All is going to be Morgana's perspective, at least so far. **

**Apologies beforehand-this is NOT beta-ed at all, so sorry about spelling and grammar errors. Also I'm American, so if I ever make it painfully obvious without realizing it, all you UK people, feel free to give me a heads-up! I really want to stick to the world of the show.**

**Okay, here goes nothing! (Disclaimer: These awesome people and this awesome show aren't mine) PLEASE READ AND REVIEW**

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><p><strong><span>Have Been and Could Be<span>**

Elyan charged at the closing cell gate as her guards locked it in his face. "Where are you taking him?" he yelled. His shaking voice echoed off the dungeon walls with the clanging of the bars as he shook the door furiously. She smiled slowly at the youngest knight and watched the fire in his eyes flicker under her silent stare—she enjoyed their anger by now.

It was the third time Morgana had made Gwaine sing for their supper, and she made sure to signal the guards just when Guinevere's brother thought his friend would be safe. Immediately after Gwaine had dropped the hunk of stale bread and collapsed on the unforgiving cell floor into Elyan's arms, the guards jerked him up again at a sharp jerk of Morgana's chin.

"Don't look so frantic, Elyan," she said soothingly, "Your friend has performed admirably thus far, you needn't worry. He's far to amusing to die just yet." She turned on her heel.

The cell she had ordered her southron guards to empty for him was in the corner furthest from the populated side of the dungeon. They threw the barely conscious Gwaine once more onto the floor with a crash, locked the metal gate, and walked away leaving Morgana staring quietly at the bruise of a man. He didn't look bothered by the fact that he was again on cold ground—instead he shifted slightly and stretched out his scraped arms as if he were embracing the floor like an old friend. She watched until he began to snore quietly, and she could have almost sworn she saw him smile in his sleep. Away she swept out of the dungeon, listening to the echo of her steps shiver through the stone hallway.

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><p>"Why'd you move me?" he asked the moment he saw her the next day. The swelling on his face had gone down just enough for her to read his expression—his sculpted jaw was raised slightly as if in wait of some attack, and his eyebrows were pulled down and together apprehensively.<p>

Morgana pulled the corner of her lips slowly up into the smirk her soldiers knew her for. "Well, you see, Gwaine, you've become something of a favorite for my men," she said casually, leaning against the wall opposite his bars. "And they work so hard, you know. I'd _hate_ to disappoint them, so for their entertainment I've decided you'll be a nightly feature," she could feel her smile widening as she watched him absorb that, still staring at her through his swollen eyelid. "This being the case, I thought you deserved your own cell—free from distractions that might wear you out even more, like old men and weak knights who can't handle torture quite so well as you."

Those fine brows of his drew even further together. "You think Elyan is _weak_ for that?" he asked incredulously. Morgana saw the muscles in his bare torso tense automatically with fury, and felt a little triumph at seeing him wince at the reminder of his beating.

"Oh, spare me the nobility, Gwaine. You know how it doesn't suit you at all. Though yes, I do suppose you're right…" Morgana conceded thoughtfully "—that was unfair of me to say of dear Elyan. He gave me what I wanted, after all; there's no need for me to disparage him." Gwaine stopped looking at her and stared straight ahead, seeing and saying nothing.

Morgana waited through the pause for a second or two before she sighed with over-exaggerated boredom. She walked closer the bars, deliberately into Gwaine's line of vision. The flash of gold burned in her already beautiful eyes and she sat down somehow in midair, on some invisible conjured seat. It was one of the flashiest bits of magic she'd learned with Morgause, and she could tell Gwaine was fascinated by it against his will. "The truth is, Gwaine," she continued, "—I have a confession to make; it is not just my knights who find you entertaining."

He met her gaze again finally. "Is that so?" he asked.

Morgana shook her head, her smile mocking sadness. "I'm afraid watching you mock my brutes to pieces has become the best part of _my_ day, as well. It's so exhausting, you see," she gestured out the tiny crack of a window above Gwaine's head "…ruling over this deranged little lump of a kingdom. I thought you could help take some of the weight off my shoulders. So," she finished, clapping her hands together and leaning back in her magical chair. "Go on, then, Gwaine. Amuse me."

The caution that had been halting him seemed to crack—after staring blankly at her expectant face for a few seconds, a rough laugh choked out of his dry throat. He dropped his head between his crossed arms and let it rest on his knees; the laughter shook his broad bruised shoulders. "I daresay I could amuse you, milady," he coughed, shaking his head and lifting it up again to smile up at the gray ceiling, "…had I not already broken so many bones. As it is, juggling a few balls or torches while balancing on a rolling barrel of ale might prove to be bloody well impossible."

"Oh, but you see, Gwaine," Morgana said, leaning forward and slouching her elbows on her knees, "—you're doing right already. If all it took was a little brawl, and a little blood, I'd gladly let Elyan alternate nights with you. You'd each fight, you'd each be beaten, and you'd each get a day of rest before going back out and facing the ring all over again. But you're the one they want to see because you _taunt_ them. You make them angry, you make it a _game_," Morgana's eyes livened as Gwaine turned face her. "That's why I want you to amuse me, Gwaine. Use those words you like so much. I'm starved for full sentences around these soldiers," she said, casting a bored glance towards the other end of the hall, where her guards stood for the rest of the cells. "Now talk, Gwaine. Your queen commands it."

Gwaine was silent, though, save for a gruff chuckle to himself as he turned his eyes again to the floor. "Don't see why I should, milady."

"And why is that?"

"You seem to be doing enough talking for the both of us."

Morgana lifted her chin and looked down at him. "According to Agravaine, that's usually _your_ job."

"Hmm, only when I have a full stomach," he replied with a tight grin, "…and only around people I have things to say to."

"And you have nothing to say to me?" Morgana asked casually, pulling a browning apple from thin air and throwing it hard through the bars.

"Not particularly, milady," he caught it and shrugged, wincing a little less now.

"I see," Morgana said, as if filing away information. "And how would you like it then if I stopped feeding dear Elyan and your precious Gaius?"

He lowered the apple from his mouth. "You wouldn't."

"I'm royalty, Gwaine," Morgana laughed. "We're all spoiled, through and through. I get what I want, and someone is punished when I don't." She paused to watch him go still with tension. His eyes were burning past the purple of his bruise…brown eyes… "Won't you amuse me, then? Do you have anything to say to me now?" she asked, leaning slowly forward.

Gwaine still looked frozen in place, but Morgana realized he was staring at something about her. "You haven't changed your clothes," he said suddenly.

Morgana felt her eyebrows jump, and she smiled to calm them. "I _beg_ your pardon?"

"When I first came to Camelot I saw you. You were at the melee," he coughed and tried to straighten his shoulders. "Still under Uther's care…you were sitting next to him and you wore fine things, with color. Well, you got your castle back, so why don't you wear the actually decent clothes of yours that are here?"

The warm fury of magic pricked at her eyes before she could stop it, and without realizing it she was on her feet. Gwaine was thrown against the back wall of the cell with a strangled yowl. "Uther gave those to his _ward_, the girl he invented to love him." Morgana said through a tight jaw once she regained her composure. "His _daughter_ is the woman who killed him, and _she_ would rather wear black."

Gwaine choked and groaned as he struggled to lift himself off the ground again. "Shame," he got out, giving up and slumping his back against the wall. "The ward in the stands was beautiful."

Morgana smirked at that. "If it's my vanity you mean to offend, Gwaine, you'll be sorely disappointed. It's been a long time since I cared what any knight of Camelot thought of me."

"Oh, alright then," he said disinterestedly, rolling his head to one shoulder and back, as if testing for pain. "I just thought you still wore that black dress because you couldn't find the other ones."

Something inside Morgana froze. "What?"

Gwaine glanced up at her, his neck still bent down. "Your dresses. Arthur offered them to Gwen, you know, but of course _she_ wouldn't take them. After that, Arthur left them in Merlin's hands, told him to burn them."

Morgana felt something familiar, like an old forgotten wound, sting at her skin. Her hands, especially—she looked down at them and realized that was her fingernails digging into her own palms. They'd been clenched in fists, hidden by her draping sleeves, without her realizing it. Turning back to Gwaine she saw him watching her. He tilted his eyes up at the ceiling as if remembering something. "You know," he continued thoughtfully, "…I was with Merlin that day, and I don't actually think he _did_ burn them. They're probably somewhere in Gaius's quarters, if you want to go looking for them," now he was leaning forward, his eyes somehow smiling through those bruised lids. "What do you say, milady? Going to find out which cupboard it was where Merlin shoved most of your life away?"

Morgana bent slowly to level her stare to his. "What, exactly," she hissed, "—are you trying to do?" Her words sounded dangerous and cold, but what scared her was the fire that edged them. She felt it flickering at her chest, ready to lash from her fingertips and tongue at any moment.

"I thought I was only doing what you asked of me," Gwaine countered, and Morgana couldn't help but notice that his stance was similar to what it was in the ring; halting, waiting and ready. "You said I made for good show because I taunted your men, that I mocked them, provoked them and made it into a game." That gruff grin was still there as he inched closer to the bars. "Milady, didn't you want to be amused?" She could see his teeth for the first time—normally he kept his lips closed. "Don't you wish to join in the games?"

When Morgana's magic lashed out this time, it was through her hand. The gold in her eyes left claw marks in addition to the red weal left behind after she'd slapped his cheek. She left the dungeon, deaf to all of Gwaine's groans of pain and left only with the sound of her heart's old beat, the one so vicious and rapid, that she hadn't felt in years.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I hate writing these, but so I don't get a slap on the wrist, OF COURSE MERLIN ISN'T MINE. Happy? Yes? Good. :D**

**Second chapter! And thanks so much you May Glenn and StolenSouls for reviewing. NOTE: To all you people who favorited the story but didn't say anything, I'm super glad you liked this, but I'd rather hear it from _you _instead of some automated email. Reviews would be awesome. Slightly bitchy rant: now over.**

**Anyway, hope you guys like this one! I have issues with Gwaine wanting to be wayy more of a bitch than is safe for him in this current situation...I keep wanting to make him just laugh at Morgana, but he's got Gaius and Elyan to worry about...I wish he'd stop being so reckless in my head. I loved writing this first part with Morgana for some reason. Hope it's not a boring read :D**

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><p><span>Have Been and Could Be<span>

She ate dinner with her southron guards and found their normally raucous antics rather dull and retired early. Though her dreams didn't return that night, she still couldn't sleep. It was the image Gwaine had left in her head…_where Merlin shoved most of your life away_…it mocked her. Eventually Morgana was pulled to her feet, and she was disturbed, though not unsurprised, to find herself walking toward Gaius's room.

The physician's home hadn't changed at all, from what she could remember. Uther had always paid him rather well, but he lived simply and comfortably. His one luxury had always been the ability to support Merlin. Merlin. Morgana didn't hold back a scornful scoff as she pushed open the door to his room in the back. What was it that made Gaius take Merlin on, anyway? And how he had lasted so long with Arthur, she'd never guess.

The boy's room wasn't particularly tidy, and it still smelled like him…the thought had dashed across her mind unbidden, and she frowned in disgusted confusion. But there it was; she could still recognize his scent. She tried to identify it now—though he spent almost all his living hours with Arthur, who smelled like metal and polish, rock and oak, Merlin's was so very different from her brother. Dark like the earth he so often seemed to be smeared in, sweet like the honey and strong like the medicines he handled, then bright and cool like water and something more.

Morgana hadn't thought about him in ages, not since he'd slipped her grasp after the incident with Emrys in the Femora, but when she found her dresses, buried beneath his own rags in the old wardrobe in the shadowed back corner of his room, she felt enraged. The idea of his hands on her things made her skin crawl and how _dare_ he hide them here? She'd prefer they were burned, rather than be in his possession, under his care.

A rainbow of silks and velvets and lace came tumbling into her hands as she pulled them out from behind the serving boy's ripped shirts. In the glow of the moon from the corner window they pooled around her knees like liquid and seemed to come to life under the touch of her hands. She'd worn so many colors then…what else had Gwaine said? _The ward in the stands was beautiful_…bloody knights.

It occurred to Morgana that she hadn't gone looking for the dresses because she couldn't wear them anymore. She'd told Gwaine the truth without meaning to; they belonged to someone she wasn't anymore. Besides, she'd lost too much weight, living in the woods off of meat she had to kill herself. They wouldn't even fit her anymore.

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><p>"I wasn't sure you'd be back here again," Gwaine's eyebrow was arched up at her. His bruises were improving.<p>

Morgana held her chin high as the stone echoed the crack of her heels down the dungeon hall. "I'm here to offer you congratulations on your performance in the ring last night," she said, smoothly, impassively.

Gwaine grunted out a chuckle. "Are you now?"

She wasn't, but she had no other idea or guess as to why she'd come back. It was a true excuse though, though—Helios had given her a full account of the fight soon as he'd seen her that morning. After she'd left the dining hall early, they'd brought Gwaine up from the cellars and he'd had his luckiest night so far. "I am," she replied. Four men in a row he'd taken out, and Helios called the third contender one of his army's best brawlers. "If there's one thing that can be said of your beloved Arthur, he certainly knows how to hire the best talent."

A wheezingly hysterical laugh erupted from the man on the ground, and Morgana felt slightly alarmed. If she hadn't known that there was no way he could have gotten his hands on any alcohol, she would have asked whether he was inebriated. "I'm sorry…" he gasped out, tears piling up in the corners of his eyes. "I'm sorry, it's just—the thought of his face," he could form words now, "…the look on Arthur's face at you calling him my 'beloved'...oh, god…" he continued shaking silently to himself.

Morgana placed a hand on her hip and cocked her head to the left, eyes narrowed. "I fail to find the same enjoyment in the joke as you, clearly," she drawled out, though the display wasn't exactly _un_enjoyable. "Enlighten me, Gwaine."

"Aho," he leaned his head back and smiled at the memory as if it were painted on the cell's ceiling. "It's nothing really, just Arthur. His royal queenliness can't stand me nine-tenths of the time. My habits and preferences disgust him a bit, and he's such a close minded little bastard the word 'beloved' would send him hopping," the smile calmed and he brought his eyes back down to the floor. "That would be a sight. But no, Arthur keeps me around because I'm the only one of them that's got the stones to beat him in combat—though he'd never say as much—and because of Merlin."

There it was again, that shiver of fire down her spine. "Merlin?" she repeated carefully. She couldn't let Gwaine see it.

He nodded fondly. "Yeah, Merlin. Don't think he always remembers it, but he's still the best friend I've got. He needed my help for Arthur a couple of times after I was banished and I just sorta got used to being there for him. Since by association that means being there for Arthur, I stayed…" he trailed off, looking somewhere far away, then shrugged to himself. "Figured there are worse places to be than Camelot." Gwaine turned to look back at Morgana and, to her fury, she hadn't the time to wipe her face blank of the tumult of feeling she felt straining her features before he caught it, "…Now, which part of that could have upset you?" he asked, frowning.

If she weren't already so furious at him for noticing her guard down, she might have found it funny how he looked almost curious. Morgana thought fast. "You're still one of my brother's knights," was all she came up with. "You're bound to irritate me no matter what you say,"

_Pathetic_. Apparently he thought so too—his eyes were squinting incredulously at her. "Well," he grunted and changed his position to lean against one of cell's sides, _he's giving up… _"—if this isn't how you wish to be treated, milady, then why do you keep coming back here?" Gwaine's head rolled back onto his shoulder and his eyes were shut in exhaustion.

Why _did_ she keep coming back to see him? "I already told you southrons speak in grunts," she said, coolly. "You might not have anything intelligent to say, but you can still use your words, and that's something." It had come from nowhere, but Morgana felt herself swelling and towering, and the strength returned to her voice. She was a queen. She had enough power. She could order them to make sure she didn't feel lonely anymore.

Gwaine opened his eyes and met her stare, but he didn't move his slumped head. "Yes, but the problem with words, milady," he said slowly, "…is that they usually require someone who's willing to listen and respond to them. I did what you asked; I talked. You shut me up. Make up your mind."

The cruel laugh rang out clear from her mouth. "You think I am as little as you? You think, in _my_ own kingdom, I can't stop your voice if I choose?" she demanded, mocking him with a smile. "Remember Gwaine, I'm still feeding your pathetic friends for you."

"And you won't let me pay you for it," Gwaine replied frankly. "And whether you believe me or not, I wasn't actually trying to upset you yesterday when I asked you about your clothes. So, do we sit here all day and listen to the bars rattle or do we start having what one could call a conversation?"

Morgana stopped and said nothing. She realized that she hadn't lied to Gwaine—she _did_ just need someone to talk to her. Loneliness had been a fact and a determination throughout all her time spent in the hovel she'd somehow made a home of. But here, in Camelot, the palace brought too many memories back. There were too many reminders here of how, even in the midst of her constant terror, she had _friends_ then.

But she didn't know how to say any of that to the Knight of Camelot, sitting on the floor behind the bars in front of her.

After the pause had stretched long enough with Morgana's stare frozen on her face, Gwaine shook his head and looked away. "It doesn't matter, anyway. No matter how much I do or don't do, this won't last. You might kill me before they come, but you won't be a Queen for too much longer."

"Oh?" Morgana asked archly, conjuring a seat again and sinking into it. "And why is that? Do tell," she narrowed her eyes dangerously at him.

When he met her glare this time, his expression was one so light and easy it almost made the cuts and bruises on his face seem to disappear. "Merlin, Arthur, Leon and Percival escaped. They'll come back, and I don't know if you realize this, but they're _good_ at thwarting you," he stretched out his arms and leaned back leisurely, putting them behind his head. "Just watch. One of them might even present me with a mug of ale the second they open this cell."


	3. Chapter 3

**Yay! It's an update!**

**Not sure how I feel about this chapter, but I couldn't stop writing it. I was actually annoyed whenever my roommates or my friends came over and asked me to go out and socialize a bit (In my defense, I'm in a cast and getting up is a lot more effort with crutches than it is for an uninjured me). I think it's a little longer too, which will be a good thing because I've got a shitload of homework coming up this week-anyone wanna write a Shakespeare paper for me? Just kidding, I'll do it myself. I love King Lear.**

**Anyhowhooos, Disclaimer; this shit ain't mine. Warnings: Unbeta-ed, and the last bit. The last bit is very largely inspired by the fact that it's the weekend and that the aforementioned cast and crutches make it very dangerous for me to drink alcohol with my pals, so I kiiiiinda miss it. This chapter has a little evidence of me missing it. **

**THANKS SO MUCH TO ALL WHO HAVE REVIEWED and PLEASE R&R! :D yes? okayee, thanks.**

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><p><strong>Have Been and Could Be<strong>

With a snap of her wrist, Gwaine lost all of his easy bearing; a high-pitched screech had exploded in his ear, and as Morgana twisted her hand this way and that, she saw him realize in horror that she was controlling the pitch.

She didn't feel like threatening Gaius and Elyan as much anymore, and at present, she didn't feel like talking. Maybe she couldn't speak to a knight anymore without a little violence in place of words. But Gwaine was right the day before—she _did_ want to join in the games, and magic was how she planned to play.

"You were saying, Gwaine?" she asked nonchalantly, leaning in her chair on her one hand and twisting the pitch down and up again with the other. He screamed and grasped his head over the ears with his forearms, looking as though he wanted to tear it off. It was only once he started rocking his neck and back convulsively did she stop the sound with the ring of gold in her eyes and the release of her hand.

He was panting as if he'd never know the sound of his own gasp again. His hair was threaded with tangle and static and his eyes never left the ceiling he fixed them on. "Right," he breathed, voice more air than sound. "You have power. Can't—forget that—" he stopped talking as if it took too much effort from his lungs.

Morgana watched him with a hum of a laugh to herself behind a closed mouth, eyes growing gradually steely. She waited until he was capable again before the words came out her tense jaw. She needed to say it. "When you spoke before and threatened my place on the throne you put Merlin's name before Arthur's."

Gwaine's bewildered face turned to her. "What has that got to do with anything?"

"You put his servant's name before your king, did you not?" Morgana asked acerbically, cocking her head to one side and raising her eyebrows expectantly. Already she felt impatient.

Now Gwaine paused, looking at her apprehensively. "I already told you," he said, his words regaining some of their old firm simplicity. "I don't care about Arthur as much as I care about Merlin."

"You are knight of Camelot," Morgana said with disbelieving suspicion. "You've already pledged your life to Arthur and the kingdom—"

"I'm not especially concerned with my life or when it ends, in case you haven't noticed," Gwaine interjected.

"—and you would award Merlin that same risk?" Morgana said, with something like a quiet threat in her eyes.

Unflinchingly, Gwaine met the glare. "Yes."

"_Why_?" the word echoed around Morgana's throat as if it had been waiting to escape for years. Why. Merlin. _Maybe it has been waiting for years…_

The smile that found his lips looked fond and bittersweet, and he directed his answer to Morgana with something like a challenge to dismiss it. "Because he'd do the same for me."

Morgana felt her voice catch as she said, "You really believe that."

He looked back at her with that same directness. "He's the first and best friend I've held onto so long. Yes, I believe that."

There it was again. That sting in her stomach, the coldness fringed with fire through her skin, the automatic clench of her hand, and she realized she couldn't ignore it anymore. "Merlin," she began, knowing that her voice was trembling with anger and unable to stop it from speaking anyway, "…is capable of holding onto his friends only for as long as he thinks he can afford to. After that, he has a tendency to poison them."

Gwaine frowned sharply. "What are you talking about?"

"Your friend," Morgana's lip curled at the word. "Your precious Merlin isn't what you think he is."

"What is he, then?" He had that jaw of his raised again, waiting for his opponent to move, one more entrance into the ring. Morgana couldn't stand it.

"An attempted murderer," she responded, eyes blazing. "And a meddler who thinks he's above being killed and above _me_. No wonder," she found herself laughing "—no wonder you admire him so much, you're both pathetic," she leaned forward, close to the bars, feeling sparks in her eyes doing some manic dance, "Little, little men, who think the world's got nothing in it to take them down…" she let her voice go thin and crack again into that cruel mirth, and he was leaning away from her, flashes of terror passing over his face. _I _feel_ terrifying. _

She gave him a look of mock pity. "You poor thing," Morgana almost sneered. "You never knew? Never knew what your _friend_ was capable of? You never heard from your new mates about the time he tried to poison Uther's ward?"

Gwaine was still keeping his distance, but his face was unreadable. "If I'm being honest, milady," he said slowly, "—they never talk about you from those days at all."

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><p>Morgana's head was pounding as she walked through the highest part of the castle to get to her own chamber.<p>

_What is wrong with me?_

With a snap of her hand, she'd knocked Gwaine out cold. It occurred to her that she needed to stop leaving him like that, but she hadn't been able to stand the thought of him watching her walk away, unstable and shaking like mad. She'd told the guards to wake him in a few hours, just before dinner. There were still soldiers to entertain, after all.

Why had she even brought Merlin back up again? Why did she care? Why did this entire palace seem to scream at her with some memory of that time, when she saw him every day? When they were friends?

The last time she'd been in Camelot, she hadn't been on her own. She had Morgause there with her to keep her safe from all those insecurities, keep her steady, keep her loved. The year she'd spent in the palace still under Uther's care should have been hell, but the knowledge that the woman who'd accepted her would be close by was enough to make it feel easy. She hunched over one of the stone windowsills in the stone hall, lost in the memory of Morgause's hair, her smile, until Merlin interrupted that dream too. He was there in that room when the Cup of Life was thrown and emptied, when her sister received the wound that sapped almost all the life from her.

And there was Gwaine, defending Merlin before Arthur, calling him a friend.

_Merlin and Arthur were supposed to be here_. They weren't supposed to escape alive, they weren't supposed to elude her again. And they were still mocking her through Gwaine…_just like Merlin did when I strung him up and drenched him_. _He never stopped fighting me. He still hasn't. _

_This isn't—_

"Your Highness!"

She whipped around, feeling almost dizzy being pulled so fast away from so much thought/wading so deep in thought "Yes, Helios?" The scarred Southron walked with his broad shoulders first. His face was grim. "What is it?"

"There was an attack on our forces outside of Ealdor," he responded darkly. "An attack by a dragon."

Morgana felt her eyes widen past the point her lids could take. She listened and walked with Helios as he told her of the fire still on the ground surrounding her men. "And Agravaine?" she asked quickly.

"Dead."

Her skin crawled with horror and furious nerve as she realized once again by how much she was being haunted. By her old home, her history in these walls, and by Emrys, her destiny and doom. _This isn't over._

"Send a patrol to Lot's kingdom and keep scouring Ascetir," she ordered Helios, feeling so distracted she could hardly believe she sounded so even-toned. "And bring Sir Gwaine up from his cell," she said suddenly, lifting her chin to meet the Southron's gaze head on.

He looked confused for a moment, then his mouth stretched slowly into a smile. "That's right. It's almost time for supper."

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><p>Noise. Morgana was grateful for all this noise. The banquet hall clanged with rough voices and the sound of glasses being slammed against the tables. She'd felt starving up until moments before the food had been brought before her—a glance at the gorgeous roast turkey made her feel sick, and she knew she couldn't eat a thing. So she drank.<p>

Helios had been shooting her apprehensive glances all through the meal, but she ignored them. The wine tasted like rust, but somehow that made her want it more and drink it faster to get to the warm burning in the hollow of her throat as it slid down. Both Uther and Morgause had penchants for fine wine, wine that was meant to be drunk slowly and enjoyed.

Morgana preferred rust.

When they brought Gwaine out, she could tell her goblet's lens had changed him. It was as if she'd become a body and the thoughts floating above it, two separate things no longer attached by a brainstem, and both parts of her watched the Knight of Camelot without anticipation, judgement or doubt. Just interest. The soldiers cheered and jeered raucously as Gwaine was shoved into the center of the ring.

Those manacles on his wrists that wrung his arms together made him look so hunched and thin…in the cell, his shoulders were free and broad. He wore a shirt when she went to see him in the dungeon, but maybe she would make him stop doing that, tell the soldiers to take it away. She thought that might be a good idea, he had such nice skin, nice chest and arms. His hair was usually smooth too, but it was growing lank with tangle and drooping over the brown eyes that sparked at his challengers, even as his grin was fighting with the tension in his jaw. Also past his hair was the bruise, the purple one from her last spell, when she'd put him to sleep and his head had dropped to the ground with a satisfying thud. The noise of the soldiers was a roar now; Morgana felt that it would have given her a headache if she didn't feel so much like she belonged in it, was one in the roar, even as she sat silent and still. Almost still, maybe a little dizzy…

Gwaine's eyes flashed to her.

She signaled for the shackle's removal and the fight began.

It would be a relay of sorts—the moment one of his opponents had enough, another was set to run in and take his place, so on and so on until the man of Camelot was on the floor. The first one charged, Gwaine ducked and swung back around to slam a cupped fist of his two hands together down on his back. He was out, his armor sank him faster to the solid ground and clanged with an echo streaming through the roar. _So many sounds…_

Through it all was Gwaine, sweeping and and cutting and charging away, through one after another after another. Morgana watched unblinking, unsure if her face held any expression at all. This was different, she thought. _Watching this is usually different_. Then she realized he wasn't taunting any of her own men. He wasn't speaking, he wasn't laughing, he wasn't saying a word.

_Maybe I'm stamping the words out of him._

_Or maybe he just won't give me the satisfaction_.

The silver chain he never took off—she'd noticed it before, it was lovely and suited him—swung with his every turn and arc through the brawl. Maybe it's going to choke him, she wondered. Fourth man. Fifth man. Still he didn't say anything.

_He won't give me the satisfaction_.

_I_ need _the satisfaction_.

Her vision was spinning, she even started to lose focus of Gwaine until his eyes caught hers. It was just for a second, a brief and tiny second, and it was enough. The fifth man got him in the arm, no, his elbow, and cracked it in a position it was definitely not supposed to go.

All the while it was happening, he was looking at her. Until the pain hit him and he started to shriek. He went down, and the man who defeated him raised his fists in victory and hollered to the crowd.

Crumpled on the floor, twitching with pain, Morgana couldn't take her eyes off him. So she turned and walked away, signaling to her guards to take the prisoner back to the dungeon as she left the roar behind her.

She'd seen the grim way Gwaine looked at her before.

Merlin used to look at her that way.

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><p>Nothing felt exactly <em>better<em> under the alcohol. Everything just _felt_. Everything _was_. It was good not to have to feel responsible to change it.

She gave the guards fifteen minutes to lock him up again before she climbed down the stairs. His breathing was painfully irregular and, unlike the roar, it wasn't a sound she accepted.

"_Medihilech_," Morgana muttered, coming up behind him and thrusting her hand out. Behind the bars the unsafe breathing stopped. Gwaine turned and looked at her with confused eyes, red with tears, then glanced back down at his elbow again. It was healed.

Drunk, something made sense to her that hadn't before. Gwaine and the palace and Merlin weren't haunting her, that wasn't the problem. The problem was that she was _letting_ them.

"Ask me anything," Morgana announced, realizing her voice didn't sound quite as even-volume as it should and finding that she didn't care. "I'm ready now."

The look Gwaine gave her was—what was that word?—_oh,_ bewildered. "…I'm sorry?" he asked weakly.

"To talk. I'm ready to talk," she conjured her chair and collapsed into it. "Ask me anything you want."


	4. Chapter 4

**Halooo. Sorry it's been a bit guys, it's been a really rough week. I got to have a little bit of fun with my apartment-complex-fam last night, and got my cast decorated awesomely by my drunk neighbor loves, but it's Easter weekend now which means everyone's gone home. I don't know why I always bitch about my personal life on this story...totally disregard all complaining I do in these author's notes**

**Anywhoos, this chapter needed to happen. Again, I'm not at all sure what I'm writing towards, but if this is getting repetitive in terms of structure, give me a holler in a review and let me know. I think next time I update I'm gonna get a few more characters involved in the mix. It's taking a lot to work through Morgana, there are so many gaps about her in the show and she's so complicated, it feels like a lot to flesh out. Anyways, I'm hoping more characters will help me do so :D**

**Disclaimer: I don't own it. Again un-betaed. Here goes, hope you guys still like this PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!**

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><p><strong>Have Been and Could Be<strong>

Gwaine blinked. "Why the sudden change?" he asked carefully. Dimly, Morgana recognized his chin was raised. She almost giggled. He thought he was still singing…he didn't realize suppertime was over…

Her vision wasn't spinning anymore, and she knew the wine was loosening its grasp on her brain enough for her to think straight, but she still felt different. As if she was exhausted, but not ready to close her eyes because she knew it wasn't time yet to go to sleep, only time to make way for a dream. To breathe, and let come in what would.

"Because I've done enough listening lately," she said, leaning back and shaking her head absently at the floor. "There have been so many sounds tonight." She could hear her voice and it still sounded a little odd—raspy and low and tired and done. Done with being controlled by a mouth that chose each word with purpose and reason. "It's my turn. I need to say things, and maybe someone like you should hear."

Gwaine narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He looked her up and down and for once Morgana didn't feel bothered by it. She felt nothing at all. "Someone like _me_?" he asked.

She considered the question. "A Knight of Camelot," Morgana replied decisively. "Someone who thinks they're above being killed."

He raised an eyebrow. "That makes it sound like you care what one of us think about you."

Now Morgana did giggle. "Why would I? You all hate me too much to change your minds. Can't a girl just say what's on her mind?"

"How will I know if you're answering my questions truthfully?" Gwaine pressed on.

"You won't," Morgana replied, rolling her eyes. "You think the strangest things are important, don't you? What will it matter if I lie to you? Besides," she made a high, thin sound that felt like some desperate edge of that damn _giggle_, "…you might be right, I'll probably be thrown off this little throne of mine any day now. So ask away. There's a good chance I'll be dead soon," she sat in anticipation, thinking of Emrys and wondering why she couldn't stop grinning.

Gwaine seemed to be wondering the same thing, if his blinking face was any indication. He took a long time to finally respond. "If it's true you don't mind me asking…" he began, voice low, "—the what exactly did you mean about Merlin?"

"Hah!" the shout that left her throat reverberated off the stone walls, even through Gwaine's cell bars. "Which _part_ about Merlin?" she almost snorted to herself. _There was so much about Merlin._

He was staring directly at her now. "The part when you said he was a murderer," Gwaine almost growled, but Morgana saw that his eyes weren't angry or cold. They were waiting patiently. They were brown.

"_Attempted_ murderer," Morgana corrected, a little petulantly. "I'm still alive here, after all."

"We've all tried to kill you at one time or another, Morgana," Gwaine replied drily. "Not sure that makes Merlin deserve to be called an attempted murderer."

_He called me by my name_, Morgana thought. Hmm_. It's not so bad, hearing him say it. He has a nice voice. I like my name_. "It wouldn't," she agreed distantly, feeling her fingers lose their blood warmth, "—if he hadn't tried to kill me four years ago before…before any of this even happened." _Before what? Before I hated them? I've never talked about this with anyone before._

The brown eyes in Gwaine's head widened. He looked funny that way. "No, Merlin wouldn't do that," his eyes recovered and he shook his head, a little smile on his lips. It was a stubborn-looking little smile. Morgana raised a brow at him.

"Hemlock poison," she said flatly. "I don't know if you've heard of Idirsholas," she heard herself slur over the name, "—but when you light those torches, the dead knights walk again. My sister," she swallowed, "…my sister lit them, targeted Uther, and enchanted the entire city with sleep.

"Somehow," that came out in a bitter hiss, or maybe a sad one because she glanced up to see Gwaine staring at her differently than before, "—your dear Merlin was the last one awake, and figured out that I needed to die to wake the rest of Camelot. Morgause made me the vessel for the spell—oh, you never met her," she interrupted herself at Gwaine's confused frown. "Morgause was my sister," Morgana explained slowly, as if she needed to make sure he heard and understood exactly who Morgause was. "And Merlin offered me water as we were trying to escape…" she let her eyes drift far off, felt her expression twinge with pain. "He said I would need it," she didn't care that her voice was breaking, "—that I'd need to _keep up my strength_."

There it was, and she couldn't escape the fact that she'd started crying.

Gwaine's eyes were wide again, but Morgana didn't recognize the expression in them. She didn't think about it long. Instead she broke her gaze with him and hunched herself over her knees in her invisible chair; she kept crying and shaking, inhaling too fast through her teeth. Hemlock had done the same to her, collapsed her lungs until she'd clawed at her chest, at her throat, and then at her betrayer's arms.

"…Merlin would have done that," she heard Gwaine whisper eventually. She looked up through the teardrops stuck in her hair and saw him looking at the floor and nodding slowly. "If it meant saving Camelot, if it meant saving Arthur and the rest of them, he would have done it."

"_Would_ have?" Morgana's glare turned to ice past the tears that had been burning them and tensed her arms and hands, trying to stop them from shaking. "He _did_. To save Camelot, to save _Arthur_, he _did_ kill me," she moment she spat the words out in contempt, the stilled tears moved again and fell. Contempt was a lie. "Arthur's a fool, he never suspected a thing, but Merlin _knew_ me, he knew about my magic, _no one else knew_. I was his _friend_, I would have defended him the way you do now!" she was shouting and faltering, all at once and she realized she'd left her seat. Her arms were reaching for things no longer in reach, things far gone.

Gwaine was on his feet now, meeting her eyes somehow even though he was taller than her. "So you hate him for being the only person in Camelot who dared to hurt you, then?" he asked, all challenge. "You hate him for saving his kingdom?"

"No! I hate him because he wouldn't trust me to poison _myself_ to save them!"

All she saw were the brown eyes in his face losing their fire and widening too far. She fell back against the opposite wall and felt her own eyes do the same. She'd never said it before. "I would have," Morgana repeated, quietly. "If he'd told me what needed to be done, trusted me with the bottle, I'd have drank it myself." She looked down at the floor, everything spinning again. She'd choked on the same floor, that same stone, while Merlin held her... "I was different then. I would have saved them—" …he had whispered _I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…_

She lifted her lids and met his eyes again. Gwaine looked horrified and entranced, as if he hadn't dared glance away from her. A little dizzy, she tilted her head to one side. "You don't believe me, do you?" she asked stonily.

Gwaine blinked and frowned deeply, shaking his head. "I never met Uther's ward, milady. I don't know what she would have done."

"Well, Merlin did," Morgana shot back bitterly. "Or at least he should have," she slumped back into her chair, drained. For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

Then the gruff laugh she was coming to know well came from behind the bars. "Merlin's in his own head half the time and dealing with Arthur the rest of it," Gwaine said, grinning almost to himself as he sat down. "If it makes you feel any better, I think he forgets I'm there every now and then, forgets I'd do anything for him."

Morgana looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "How is that—" she drawled, "…meant to make me feel better?"

"Because you're not the only one who's ever been wronged by a friend," Gwaine answered simply. "Maybe he didn't know you as well as he should have, and maybe he wasn't who _you_ thought he was."

Morgana sat in silence, dwelling on that thought. Who _was_ Merlin, the only one she'd told about her magic? She could see the boy's face in her mind. Boy…she called him that in her head, but she knew she was lying to herself. Merlin had been tall, tall enough to look down on her and sometimes make her feel even delicate. He was so thin, and skin was so light, but somehow he'd never looked unhealthily pale or drawn—he'd just looked like Merlin. Black hair, sharp bones, dark blue eyes…how had she forgotten she'd once found him beautiful?

_Uther's ward could have loved him,_ she thought. _Uther's ward lived here, made this palace a home._

_Maybe_ that's _what I'm doing…I need to remember who she was. I need to remind myself of Uther's ward and all she was to this kingdom before Uther's _daughter_ can rule over it_.

_I better remember fast. Emrys is on his way_.

"Was there more?" she snapped her head up to find the knight still there, sitting behind the bars. The shadowed image of withered Emrys faded from her mind and made way for Gwaine, beautiful and young, his brows furrowed in front of her her.

She blinked. "What?"

"Was the poison the worst of it?" Gwaine clarified, watching her too closely, "Or was there more?"

Morgana still didn't feel like she could process the question. Gwaine was leaning forward slightly with his shoulders. She couldn't stop noticing them, they were so strong, so smooth, and those brown eyes shouldn't stare at her that intently. Her neck felt warm. _Apparently the alcohol's still not gone_.

"The poison was the worst of it," she somehow found herself answering. "But yes, there was more. Much more." And there was, but she was too exhausted to tell it. If it hadn't been Gwaine sitting in front of her eyes, handsome and gazing directly at her, she doubted she'd be keeping them open at all.

Abruptly Morgana stood. "I'm going to bed now," she announced, no longer meeting Gwaine's stare. "You should sleep too, you fight again tomorrow."

She walked down the hall and wasn't expecting a reply, but Gwaine's "Thank you, milady," rang out from behind her anyway.

She stopped, but didn't turn to look at him. "For what?"

He hesitated, and there was something uncertain in his steady voice as he answered. "For letting me ask."


	5. Chapter 5

A note NOT RELATED TO THIS STORY: Okay you guys, so something happened this week that basically scared me shitless-my apartment got broken into while me and one of my roommates were home asleep. Everybody's okay, we got lucky that neither of us woke up during the robbery or that neither of our other roommates came down in the middle of it. That's not why I'm mentioning it here though-I'm posting about it here because two of my roommates lost their laptops.

One of them is an English and Creative Writing major and lost all of her documents and she didn't have them backed up anywhere. I know, a lot worse could happen, but she's devastated, and I've been putting myself in her shoes over and over again and I couldn't imagine what I would have done if it had been my laptop with my writing in it got stolen.

This is to all of you writers: BACK UP YOUR DOCUMENTS because I don't want that to ever happen to any of you. Sorry, totally skip this if you already back up your work, but for people like me who sometimes don't think about it or forget to, trust me, it can happen. You can lose them. It's too much hard work to ever really replace.

Sorry, you guys. Sentimental overwrought ranting is done now.

**Onto story stuff! Okay, first of all, THANK YOU SO MUCH for your reviews! I wasn't sure where to go next and I can't even tell you guys how much you inspired the actual plot that's about to happen after this chapter. Can't say more than that, I'll give things away :D but trust me, I wouldn't have known what to do without you guys and your advice.**

**This is a really long chapter with lots of buildup, hopefully the buildup parts aren't a little too slow-tell me if they are. **

**Disclaimer: Merlin=notmine**

**A lot of warnings to give out for this one: Unbeta-ed (as per usual). Implied fem/slash at the beginning (I don't know if this is just me, but I've always thought Katie McGrath and Emilia Fox have waaaaaayyy too much hot chemistry to be playing sisters, so in my head, they're not :D ) but if you don't like slash, nothing in that part is explicit at all, it's all just hinted at. I've got a little Helios in here, he's also very suggestive and innuendo filled, woooo lotsa fun. Then we've got some darkness towards the end that I really didn't expect to happen. But it did.**

**Okay, I talk alot, and I is shutting up now. On with le chapter!**

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><p><strong> Have Been and Could Be<strong>

_"Did you still want to try and beat me today?" the sly female voice asked her, sending shivers of excitement through Morgana's spine. _

_Past her shut eyelids, the world was blinding warm and haloed in white gold. She never wanted to wake up, not even for a chance to practice fencing again._

_"Just a few more hours?" she pleaded, smiling into her pillow. "Then I'll prove I can still disarm you."_

_But the hand that had been stroking her temple and hair so sweetly had suddenly stilled. "Morgana," it was Morgause's voice, "How long had it been since you'd slept before I came to Camelot the first time?"_

_Morgana grinned and curled the sheets tighter around her. "When you beat Arthur to the ground, you mean?"_

_Morgause's voice was a little harsher now. "You know I only came for you," Morgana opened her eyes and turned to watch her. Those brown eyes…the first time she saw them Morgana felt like she could spend her entire life in their stare. Their dark warm stare, holding her firm as if she'd never be afraid again…"If Uther hadn't claimed you for his own, I could have forgiven him," Morgause continued, voice lower. "I would have left Arthur alone."_

_Morgana frowned and nodded, eyes down. "I know," she sat up, thought back to the year before and winced—it hurt so much to remember. _

_"It wasn't that I never slept…not exactly…I just never woke up_ feeling _as though I slept," she paused, felt as though her bones were aching with the memory of it, as if her skull weighed a ton and her spine couldn't hold the rest of her body up. "Years," she suddenly smiled bitterly, "—It went on for years."_

_Morgause's jaw was tight as she nodded. "And your nightmares?"_

_"Oh, they got worse and worse…no one believed me of course, and I waited and watched each day. It was like a tournament you knew half the horror of before the rest of the audience and just had to keep guessing when it would make itself known," Morgana felt her lips go cold and still "…and then," she barely kept herself from shuddering as she spoke, "—then there was the fire sound."_

_Those brown eyes searched hers intensely for fear. "What was that?" Morgause asked softly._

_"The dragon," Morgana swallowed. She'd never mentioned it to anyone, not even to Gwen who was there for every waking hour of it. "…The one that Uther penned up in the cavern beneath the castle to give himself a name. It slept beneath my room you know…I could hear him, feel him breathing, he fueled half of every nightmare…he hated me…"_

_"—His name is Kilgarrah," cut the voice. The warmth in the room shattered into ice. She stared petrified behind Morgause, who whipped her blonde hair to follow the gaze. Even Morgana's fearless woman couldn't take it in—her brown eyes bulged._

_Emrys stood on thin air out the window, white hair flying, eyes flaring with calm fury and magic. Before Morgana could react, a sudden burning exploded in her head. A strangled gasp escaped her throat—she'd tried to breath, but her lungs were strangled with smoke, bubbling up from her…that was fire…the fire sound…_

_Morgause had ripped her sword from its sheath and charged at Emrys, but gold ringed his eyes and the woman in armor dropped like a stone to her knees, the hand holding her weapon wouldn't budge._

_The stone ground shook…Morgana was choking now, heaving her chest but no air got through the smoke...she stared horrified at the quaking floor_…but we're not in Camelot…he couldn't be here…

_But he was. The floor opened up in a deafening rockslide and the Great Dragon rose into the room._

_Morgana blinked up at the thing that haunted her whole childhood and wondered wildly how he could be so much_ more _horrible than he was in her nightmares. Bronze and gold scale cracked against each other, his wings whipped the air into some sort of frenzy and the entire room was whirring round in the wind so fast her eyes stung. "Morgause!" she shrieked, but all she saw were her brown eyes, wide and powerless._

_Emrys had mounted the dragon at some point. Morgana's stare whipped back and forth between them and the woman in armor vulnerable on the ground._

_Brown eyes. Morgause wasn't there anymore. The eyes were Gwaine's, wide and shaking his head helplessly at her, vulnerable, terrified—Merlin was there too, he had come in through the window behind him, followed by Arthur and Gwen, the rest of the soldiers...they stood unbroken behind the dragon…Emrys's eyes burned at her—Morgana shouted again, begging Gwaine to move, to do something—_

_-the last thing she saw was Merlin run behind Gwaine and somehow lift the knight's sword arm that wouldn't budge from the ground before Emrys and the awful dragon charged, its teeth dug into her shoulders, swallowing her whole._

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><p>"MORGANA!"<p>

Her entire body jolted and as she opened her eyes she realized she was already sitting up in her bed, gulping in air and sweating heavy cold. She darted her eyes at the walls around her—it was her own room. _He's gone, he's gone, he's gone_…whether she was thinking of Emrys or the Dragon she wasn't sure at all.

There was a pounding on the door, and the voice called again. Convulsively, Morgana tried to stand, but the second she straightened her spine she felt how her brain was weighing down on the rest of her neck and there was a pounding behind her eyes, far louder than the sound at the door. "What is it?" she demanded, her voice ragged. The pounding continued and she remembered how she'd locked her door. A spasm shot through her wrist and her magic released the bolt with a metallic clang.

The heavy oak swung open and Helios stormed in, shooting a mordant glare at Morgana before heading to her windows. "You realize it's past midday already my lady," he mentioned forcefully as his trained arms swung open her drapes. Light filled the room and crashed into her eyes. She gasped and could almost _hear_ the pain in her head as she squinted them shut. "I was asleep," she muttered, though the way her body ached she would have thought she'd gotten no sleep at all. Her head dropped between her shoulders and swung back and forth—she did nothing to stop it.

"Well, well, Morgana," he was raising his eyebrows and amused, she could tell by the intrigued slide against the gravel of his voice. "The cool, collected Pendragon witch losing a match with her goblet, not something I thought I'd see for a long time yet."

"Implying," Morgana said through gnashing teeth, "—that you _did_ expect a show at some point?"

Helios guffawed. "Ruling kingdoms is a funny business. No sober king in history has lasted longer than a month, I assume sorceresses are no different. Just didn't think you'd be so easy to drive under the table—if I had, I would've done it myself."

She looked up to pierce him with a glare, ignoring the screaming sun that hit her eyes. "Try it, see how well it ends for you."

Helios smiled savagely. "Fight in a woman," he mused. "Nothing more attractive."

"Yes, you're charming as ever," Morgana said thinly, clutching a hand to her forehead. Pretending she was anything but hungover was pointless. "Did you come here for any reason other than to mock me?"

"No," Helios grinned with all his teeth. "I merely wished to see whether or not you were still _alive_."

"Well, clearly I am," Morgana hissed, trying not to rise to the challenge in his voice.

"Just barely, I see."

"Spare me. Surely _you_ of all people can't begrudge me a night's indulgence, can you?"

"No," Helios allowed, jerking his head to one side thoughtfully, "I couldn't, and I wouldn't, but like I said earlier I didn't expect it from you so soon…that is, certainly not before Arthur's caught."

Something in Morgana's stomach turned. "…What are you implying, Helios?"

The broad Southron glanced down. "Milady," he began, looking decidedly entertained by his own thoughts, though he kept his voice civil in a way that set Morgana on edge, "—you have the throne, but _keeping_ it is another thing. The pressure of doing so is bound to get to you at some point or other, especially being lonely as you are." For a moment, Morgana was so shocked that her head stopped hurting, "You have an army of men at your disposal," he continued, seemingly oblivious, "I already know you won't mix business with pleasure by coming to _me_, but it one of my _soldiers_ were to be your fancy, they will do as you command. To take your mind off things…"

Morgana was too stunned to speak. So she laughed, a hollow one that only rang inside her already throbbing skull and made it throb more. "I _beg_ your pardon?"

His wide lips widened further. "It was just an idea, milady." Morgana glowered at him, but even as she did she felt her hands start to shake. Helios often left his mouth open and jaw taut after finishing a sentence. The coarse and brutish effect it gave, Morgana knew by now, was very deliberate. He was a smart man, for all his brawn, and that reminder didn't sit with her at all.

"I don't suppose I should be surprised at a suggestion like that from the likes of you," she remarked coolly, allowing a smirk to pull at her lips, "But remember I'm not _like_ you, Helios. I don't consort with banished brides of Camelot, I don't need soldiers for bedwarmers—_my_ appetites don't get in my way."

Helios raised an eyebrow that pulled at his scar. "Is that so, Morgana?"

"Yes, that's so," she stood and spoke forcefully.

"Well, I suppose one of the soldiers would be a little too common for your Majesty, and didn't think banished brides were to your taste," he looked Morgana up and down with a devilish grin that disgusted her, "But _Knights_ of Camelot, however…that I can see. And if you think I'm too great a fool to notice how often you spend with the prize bull prisoner, than you're very mistaken."

Morgana froze. "What?"

"Sir _Gwaine_, I believe it is," the name rolled from Helios's tongue. "Did you expect none of the guards would report that to me?"

It took every ounce of Morgana's strength to regain her composure. "What of it?" she demanded, tilting up her chin and raising her brows at him.

He bowed his head. "We're all entitled to our spoils, milady," Helios said smoothly. "For now, we've won this kingdom and we should be able enjoy it as we please—"

"Don't overstep your boundaries, Helios," she interrupted viciously.

"—but your _brother_ is _still out there_ with the escaped, and I think you well know that this kingdom won't truly be ours until they are all dead."

"And I supposed one night of too much wine and a few visits to a dungeon cell mean I've forgotten that?" Morgana sneered. "You're losing your nerve."

"It's more than that, Morgana, don't pretend it's not. You're barely present during council, you jump at every shadow, and then there's your _Emrys_ to consider," Helios continued, twisting his jaw and drawing closer to her; unbidden, the image of the old man and the dragon flashed before Morgana's eyes and she stepped back in terror despite herself, "…the man none of us have seen save you, who you believe could have commanded a dragon to slaughter Agravaine. Are you sure he isn't a figment of your imagination?" he was standing right over her now, daring her to move, "…Some ghost you created as an explanation of your _every_ _failure_ to take this kingdom down? Of your every _flaw_?"

Ripped from her trance, Morgana drove her magic straight at his chest with an outstretched hand, but Helios seemed to be expecting it. He bent his arms and sailed into the tapestry and wall with barely a grunt of pain. Before Morgana could strike again, without warning he stormed at her, blade outstretched. She couldn't hide her shock and barely dodged the first of his blows.

Helios used the split second she took to recover well—he whipped out a knife from his belt and flung it at her back and it was only luck that she turned around in time. Her mind halted it in midair, inches from her forehead. Magic shot through her and a yank of her chin sent the dagger at Helios's throat, where it quivered threateningly against his skin. He glanced down at it briefly, then grunted with pleasure and threw down his sword, looking back and smiling as he raised his hands in surrender. "There's no need for that, Morgana!"

"_Isn't_ there?" Morgana shouted, eyes blazing with hatred. "You think you can overrule me, Helios? Cast me out of my own kingdom?"

"Of course not, Morgana, I can't protect this throne from Arthur and his people without you here," he still ignored the blade at his throat but, for the first time, his normally grinning and scarred face was serious. "The problem is I truly _want_ to _keep_ this kingdom, I've wanted Camelot for years now. Your magic has made you slow. I can't have that if it's to stay within my grasp." Before Morgana could blink back her fury, Helios tore the dagger away from his neck and out of her power's hold.

She shook her head, trying to glower at him through the haze in front of her eyes, but that only seemed to make him huff with laughter. "The offer still stands, milady," he pocketed the dagger and turned from the room. The moment the door closed behind him, Morgana realized she couldn't bear to stand any longer. The headache overtook her body and she let her limbs buckle beneath her without a fight. She hit the soft cushion of her bed and slept without dreaming for hours.

_What am I doing?_ By the time she next woke, it was early evening, perhaps five o'clock, and the wine had finally stopped exacting its toll on her skull. She had a second's piece before the late sun from the window glinted off something on the floor and caught her attention. A sword. Helios's sword. _We're all entitled to our spoils, milady…_

Spoils.

_It only happened once._

_When he rose from the lake like a god…_

Your magic has made you slow_._

_…Helios could have killed me._

_I never met Uther's ward…_and Gwaine, she'd told him how she'd have saved Camelot, told him too much to believe—_don't know what she would have done_…

She swore loud enough to shiver that sword on the ground.

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><p>It was time for supper, but she made sure the throne room was empty. Her back was to the heavy oak doors when she heard them creak open. "It's about time," Morgana said, more harsly than she meant to. She still didn't turn around.<p>

"...Why would you have me brought here?" Gwaine's voice, though apprehensive, was always so strong. A thrill ran down Morgana's spine.

"Leave us," she called, turning profile to order the guards holding him away. They bowed, unlocked his shackles and marched out. Before Gwaine could ask any questions or make a sound, Morgana swiveled to face him. Delight welled up in her throat and curved her mouth into a devious smile as she saw his eyes bulge at the two blades she held in her hands. "What do you know," she asked casually, swinging the swords in a cross pattern, "—about magic, Sir Gwaine?"

His strong brows pulled further down and his eyes didn't leave the weapons. "A little, milady," he said slowly. Morgana couldn't help feeling glad he'd left his shirt on—there was less to be distracted by.

"You say your friends the Knights don't talk about the girl they knew," she continued archly. "Then you didn't know she could disarm the legendary Prince Arthur before she even knew a single spell," Morgana made sure Gwaine wasn't ready for it—she tossed Helios's sword to him with considerable speed and he just barely caught the handle.

"Ahh," he winced—the other hand had gotten nicked by the blade, "—no, milady, can't say I did." Morgana smirked at the blood on his hand, and aimed the gold in her eyes at the cut. It healed instantly, and as Gwaine looked back, he couldn't resist a half smile. "Am I supposed to say thanks?" he asked warily, twisting his jaw and fixing his brown-eyed gaze on hers.

_Don't do that_. "Not my concern, Gwaine," she answered flatly, walking towards him. "If you're going to help me train, I can't have you injured, can I?"

His forehead wouldn't allow his eyebrows to jump high enough. "Help you _train_?" he asked as if he'd heard her wrong.

Morgana scowled. "Yes, _Gwaine_, help me train. You see," she held up a hand and absently let a few yellow sparks dance in her palm, "I was attacked today," she went on, watching the sparks and feeling his stare, "—by someone beneath me. Even with my powers I barely stopped him from getting the upper hand because, recently, I've been letting my guard down," she hadn't meant for the bitterness to escape into her voice, and as she glanced up at Gwaine, she wasn't sure she liked the way he seemed to have noticed. The sparks dropped. "I refuse to let that happen again," Morgana finished, her eyes hard.

Gwaine didn't back away from the stare, and didn't speak for a pause. "So what exactly are you asking me to do?" he asked finally.

Morgana turned and made her way to the opposite side of the room. "Arthur and company won't stay away from Camelot for long, and when they arrive, I want to be ready for them. My magic is as powerful as it's ever been, but I cannot let myself grow slow and forget how to fight with more primitive weapons," she pivoted and held up her own sword, pointed at his chest. "That's where you come in," her eyes sparkled and, for the first time in weeks, she felt strong. "You'll _remind_ me."

She had never seen Gwaine look so confused. "Let me get this straight, milady...you want me, your prisoner of war, to train you and help you practice fighting techniques that will make you even _more_ of an indestructible force of nature than you already are so you can be further reassured you'll defeat the man _whose army I come from,_ and then you expect me to just watch my friends die by the sword I sharpened?"

"I do." Morgana's eyes flared. "All of the above."

The fist around his sword handle tightened until Morgana could have sworn she heard his knuckles crack. "If you think I'll do this, Morgana, then you haven't been listening at all," Gwaine's growl was low.

Morgana narrowed her eyes. _That shouldn't have hurt_. "You _will_ do it," she whispered, feeling lethal as the poison. "Because I _have_ been listening. Elyan I'll leave alone; he's done enough for me already and the nightmares he'll suffer all his life will do their work in time. Gaius, however…" a cruel smile twisted her lips. "Gauis is dying, and I will gladly speed up the process and watch it happen."

Fear. Quaking fear spread across Gwaine's face and Morgana could almost feel it trembling within her, his own pain. "No," he breathed.

"The man who lied to me since my childhood? The man who told me I was fine, who swore my nightmares weren't real, weren't magic? My sister's killer? Oh—" she paused and smiled, as if she'd just remembered, "…And Merlin's guardian." The blow had landed. "Think of the look," she said, sadly and sweetly, like hemlock. "The look on your best friend's face if he knew _you_ were directly responsible for his father figure's death." Morgana loved it and hated it—the way the fight in Gwaine's eyes died. The sword in his hand hung limp by his side and, at that moment, she knew Gwaine would do anything she asked. A shade. _A shade_.

Suddenly she was horrified.

"Well," Gwaine said emptily, looking down at his sword. "I guess all the odds are against me. Chances…" _What was that? Was that a spark in his eyes?_ "—slim to none." He lifted his head and looked straight at Morgana, and no, she hadn't been wrong. There was still life in his almost grinning mouth. "I'll do what you say, milady," he said firmly, then brought the sword to his other palm and reopened the cut she'd healed, "If it's all the same to you, though, I'll keep my scars."


	6. Chapter 6

**This might be the last chapter for a while, a few weeks. Finals, whoo baby whoo. I have lotsa papers due and I keep sidetracking myself with this story, which is not good for me at all.**

**Disclaimer: ugh. merlin. isn't. mine. **

**Warnings: Unbetaed. Um, lots of swordfighting, which I have minimal knowledge of so if I get my terms a little mixed up, sorry about that. I've only had to do stagefighting a few times, and I sucked at it so they stopped casting me in those roles. As for the rest of the chapter...well, I'd give stuff away. But this story is rated Teen for a reason.**

**Here we go, and, especially all you invisible Alerters out there, PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!**

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><p><strong><span>Have Been and Could Be<span>**

"Why do you—" step, CLANG, "—never take that bloody necklace off?"

Gwaine shrugged, parrying her last swing, "Search me. Why do you never take that—" _slash_. Morgana ducked; the metal nearly missed her braid, "—gaudy bracelet off?"

Morgana scoffed and continued the dance behind his back where he swiveled to meet her blade, "Sorry, Gwaine, but a Knight of Camelot who wears those hideous red and yellow cloaks has no—" she lunged, he clocked the point away, "—right…" and again, "…to call _me_ gaudy."

He bent his torso backwards and nearly fell, catching his balance at the last minute before she tried decapitating him again. "Suppose you have a fair point—!" he hopped on his toes as she kept advancing on him, "I never liked them either," she could have sworn Gwaine was almost giggling as he dropped to the ground and rolled away from her determined swipe.

Anger shot through her and she flashed her magic eyes, "Enough." She held out her free hand and Gwaine suddenly stopped rolling on the floor as if he'd hit a wall.

"…_Oww_," he groaned, rubbing his back. "Really wish you'd stop doing that," he coughed. Morgana ignored him and sat down on the opposite side of the room, resting her back against the wall to catch her breath. "You were doing alright 'til then."

Morgana twisted her mouth. "Not well enough."

It had been almost two weeks since they'd struck their deal. So they wouldn't have to face any suspicious questions from the Southrons, they practiced every day in the emptied old armory on one of the far corners of the palace. Morgana agreed to leave Gaius unharmed. Elyan had taken up the supper entertainment and, in recognition of Gwaine's total compliance, Morgana didn't let Elyan keep any major wounds received. The situation was tentative at best. Privately, Morgana wasn't sure she'd spare Gaius long anyway—Morgause's gorgeous smile had been making frequent appearances in her dreams, and the memory of finding her unconscious on the throne room floor from the physician's spell made Morgana ache for murder. But there was swordplay to learn—she was only slowly improving—and there was a balance to restore. There was Gwaine to keep in line.

_I need him here_. She'd gotten used to him, and his jibes didn't offend her nearly as often as they should now—she'd stopped trying to puzzle out the "why"._ Whatever the reason, I'd prefer him inside this castle than outside, with _them_, fighting to take it back_. "You didn't answer my question," she commented, pulling the water pitcher from the opposite side of the room to her hand with a spell.

Gwaine stared at the water as if trying to hide his longing. "What question?" he asked blankly, ripping his eyes away from the pitcher.

Morgana rolled her eyes and magicked a glass for him. "Why do you wear the necklace?"

He downed the water with his head back as if he were taking a shot of something strong. "Mmm…do I need a reason?" Morgana wasn't sure, but for a moment he looked almost defensive.

"Who gave it to you?" she arched an eyebrow.

Now Gwaine looked curious. "You assume somebody gave it to me?" he tilted his head as if to stare at her from another angle. Morgana flushed and looked away.

"Well, did they?" she asked, stunted.

He stared at her a moment longer before he shrugged. "No. I found it."

"Where?"

"Off a dead man." Morgana glared at him expectantly, daring him to go on. Gwaine chuckled at the look. "He was a Knight in Carleon's kingdom I met before I left. My sister and I were there to seek an audience with the court so we could collect what was owed of my father's salary after he died in the war. My mother couldn't support herself without it, but Carleon said he couldn't pay it all. The Knight dragged us out without letting us say another word and nearly twisted off my wrist in the process. Said my father was a weakling, said he knew him. My sister ran off back home, but I stayed in the city after I saw the Knight's necklace."

"You stayed behind for a piece of _jewelry_?" Morgana asked, almost snorting.

"Well, there was this tournament I heard about," Gwaine's eyes were sparkling oddly, and Morgana couldn't read his tiny smile. "Every courtier I eavesdropped on was putting bets on the winner, and most of them thought it would be that Knight. I hated him, but I loved that necklace. I wanted it. So I started betting against him. I didn't have much, but I raised the price by offering my services for a few months to pay it off if I lost the wagers. Nobles like to laugh at me for some reason, so they took the challenge since they were sure I'd lose. They didn't expect me to _enter _the tournament. Didn't win the whole thing, I didn't stick around long enough to, not after I killed him. Ripped this off his neck," he brushed his fingers over the metal crescent, "—collected my money, and ran. Haven't been near home since."

Morgana found herself staring the necklace. It rested below the hollow of his throat, on the bare skin where his shirt was open. "Maybe you changed, the moment you put it on," she heard herself say. "Maybe you became someone different, someone who could run away from home, who would leave it all behind." The sun glinted off the silver; she couldn't look away.

His voice broke over her trance, "Is that what happened when you put on yours?" he sounded peculiar, as if he'd been hesitating to say it. Morgana blinked back up at him and shook her head.

"I don't know," she frowned. Gwaine's fingertips were still moving absently, lightly, over the metal, plying the sunlight…suddenly Morgana felt the urge to grab at her own throat…as if it was her own skin he was touching. _It was only once_…

"Get up," she said abruptly, grasping her sword and making her way to the other side of the room. Ignoring her fluttering pulse, she only hoped she wasn't flushed as she turned back to face him. Gwaine started smiling as he took up his own. "Show me how you did it," Morgana commanded, meeting his eyes head on.

His brows jumped, and his grin looked almost wolfish now. "How I killed him, you mean?"

"No. How you stole your _prize_," Morgana responded. At the confused frown on his face she held up her left wrist—her healing bracelet glinted in the window's sunlight and he understood. They nodded to each other and began.

Normally, Gwaine waited for her to charge, but this time they moved together, meeting each other's speeds and their blades clashed high with equal force. "So," Gwaine shouted around the furious clashes, "What's so special about yours?" He slashed at Morgana's neck. She leaned away in time and drew him to the other corner of the room.

"It's got power—" but she was too distracted to finish her answer, "_Where_ on _earth_ did you learn to fight?" her back was against the wall. She ducked and got behind him while Gwaine's sword chipped the wood.

He huffed out a laugh as this time Morgana got him at point against the wall. "My brother and I used to practice while we were drunk," he lunged and grabbed at her sword arm and wrenched it behind her back—Morgana winced.

"Makes sense," she grunted, then clenched her jaw and rammed her free elbow into his chest before he could steal her bracelet. For a moment he heaved for air, she flexed the wrist he'd grabbed, and then the moment was over and they clashed again.

Earlier in her life, Morgana had practiced swordplay with two primary partners—Arthur and Morgause—and they were nothing like Gwaine. Both Arthur and Morgause were rhythmic and deliberate, graceful and strategic swordspeople. Gwaine was scattered and convulsive, every move was jarring compared to the one before it. Morgana had to watch him every second of the way or she'd miss her swing and end up with a point at her back. The first few times around she had no idea what she was doing, but she was getting there. Now she had enough focus to actually converse while fighting.

"What kind of power does it have?" Gwaine panted. They kept up hit for hit. Morgana felt her forehead break the first sweat.

"Healing," she jumped and his blade swept under her feet. "I can't—" CLANG "—sleep—" she took a blow then lunged, "—without it on." His blade stopped hers and they held each other motionless. Steel grinded against steel and they swung apart at Gwaine's pull.

"Won't lie to you…" He closed the distance between them with an aim down on her shoulder—Morgana blocked it overhead and he was standing over right over her, "—I'm surprised you can sleep at all with everything you've done," Gwaine's eyes met hers, searched hers, and she was frozen in the stare. His shirt had slipped off one of his strong shoulders.

_SCREECH. _Morgana's blade shoved him away, trembling, needing him as far away as possible. "What about what you've done, Gwaine?" she growled, slowly forcing herself to walk to him again. "You're a killer too, you, you're no less a monster than me."

Gwaine lifted his jaw and scowled down at her from across the room. "I don't burn farmers' crops. I don't try to kill my friends."

Morgana's laugh rang through the room, somehow louder than the clash of a sword. "They don't deserve your loyalty, Gwaine! As they didn't deserve mine!" She clocked round again. His strength was gathering—each blow of his was furious now. Morgana didn't care. "How _many_ times have they _kept_ things from you?" she asked, smile stretching wider as she blocked his every attack. "Arthur and Merlin—when do they ever _tell you_ _everything_?"

In Gwaine's growing rage, she saw it. A flicker of doubt passed through those eyes, and his hesitation was enough to slash him back, slice near his throat. "You care too much," she snarled. "You don't even question them, do you?"

He recovered a twisted grin. "Why?" the blades met and sang. "Because it did _you_ so much good?"

Morgana's eyes gleamed. "They'll betray you," _Step_, _slash_. "Before long, they will."

"No," Gwaine backpedalled, she was gaining on him— "Merlin won't," he swung, aggressively close to Morgana's wrist. "I know him—" CRASH "—_better_ than that."

He'd gotten too close—she pivoted and got an angle… "No, you don't," rammed her elbow once again at his shoulder, he staggered back, "…you just think you do," Morgana called to him darkly, straightening her back. Gwaine's neck was hanging down and he breathed heavily and ragged.

It was when he lifted his head and the light caught something—a desperate strain in his eyes—that a shock surged through her body.

"You're in love with him," she said, thunderstruck eyes wide.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

A blink of pain, then his face contorted almost past recognition. Without saying a word he charged and swung at her, but he used too much power and Morgana dodged easily, even with her head still reeling. He was wide open. She rushed at his chest—the point had almost gotten him—_in love with Merlin_—he was almost won—

—but he spun around. _He tricked me_, and the thought was with her as he shoved her to the ground. The stone floor was cold against her cheek—she let out a strangled yowl and her sword flung out of her hand, scraping loudly against the rock tiles.

"Tell me something, Morgana—" she felt herself being jerked upright by the back of her shirt and almost simpered in pain. Gwaine yanked her around, pulled her to him, she met the demanding fire in his eyes—couldn't rip herself away from that gaze, _oh no_, "…why do _you_ care where my loyalties lie?"

The very magic within her seemed to halt. All she could do was stare back at him, mouth open, gaping, as if trying to swallow an answer from the air—_why does he make me feel so lost?—_then her eyes moved down to his lips.

"I don't know," she croaked. Gwaine's brows furrowed even more, and Morgana realized he knew—he'd seen where her gaze had fallen…

He was the first to move, but that barely registered. All she knew was their lips were suddenly on top of each others.

_What am I doing_? But Morgana kept kissing him. His lips were thin and skilled and mean—he attacked her with every touch and she took it all. It was hunger, it was horrible, but it was happening and _I'm not stopping_. The stubble on his chin scratched at her cheek and she found her own hands grabbing onto his chest, one rushing over his skin there and the other tightening into a fist around the pendant, then up to his hair to pull his head and mouth tighter to her own, insistently drinking him in.

A growl came from Gwaine's throat and shuddered through her veins. His sword arm tightened around the small of her back and she could feel him in her legs, while his free hand skimmed her throat, her chest and collarbone. The calloused palm moved down her arm, her skin was screaming with want, a desperate want, to resting on her lower stomach, moving up, then to her wrist where he twisted patterns over her pulse. Suddenly, to Morgana's confusion, his ruthless mouth slowed down, and he gently pushed her body from his and wrenched his lips away.

Morgana opened her eyes dazedly. _Where did he go_? But Gwaine was standing right in front of her, twirling something gold, no silver, _my bracelet_, around his finger.

"I won, milady." His voice was toneless. "May I be dismissed now?"

"Why did you do that?" Morgana asked, realizing she sounded stupid and confused as to why she didn't feel that mattered.

Gwaine's eyes held no expression she could read. _Why did you kiss me?_ "Because you wanted me to," he answered. "I told you I'd do as you wished."

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><p>The whole way up to her chamber, Morgana could barely walk a straight line. Lightheaded, dizzy, it was only by luck she realized the time of day meant she had to get dressed for dinner.<p>

Her heavy door shut behind her and she removed her light training clothes, her linen shirt and pants, everything he touched. Including her bracelet. The guards had run to give it to her after she'd dismissed Gwaine without thinking to take it back, but she couldn't wear it now.

The full mirror in the corner of her room stared back at her, and the girl inside it could have been the old Morgana, could have been Uther's ward. Without the black dress, and with her hair only in one braid, so practical for training, she almost looked the same. And her skin…_god_…her skin. _He touched that too, but there's no way to take it off_.

She turned the mirror around.

_Why did I let him do that? Why couldn't I have just done what Helios suggested? A soldier would have helped and done fine, not someone with a mind, not someone who could control me…_

Not Gwaine.

_The shade_.

She grabbed her dress from her bed and laced up the bodice.

_Only once_.

Lancelot had been beautiful in life. Morgana hadn't known him well, but she'd taken care to observe him once she realized he was interested in Gwen, and she liked and approved of what she saw. Strong, handsome, honorable, warm…he was a rare man, and she went back to Gwen and deemed him worthy of her.

The girl who summoned the body from the lake wasn't that Morgana, and the body from the lake wasn't Lancelot. Wasn't anything more than soulless and empty. But those shoulders were wet and his hair was dripping and his perfect skin rippled with muscles that were all hers to command…and no one had touched her in so long…

_And I'm empty too_. The thought had dawned on her while he lay gently on top of her, working his way through her, and that thought ruined all she wanted. Every touch had been a dream until she remembered he was a shade, _I'm no better,_ and that knowledge hummed through her bones and the body of the man inside her was no longer beautiful. Its skin felt cold.

So she sent it on the mission, ordered it to kill itself afterwards, and never had to see it again.

She could do that to a soldier, a shade.

Gwaine was neither.

Her head collapsed onto her pillow and she fell mindlessly asleep.

_What do I do now_?


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys. Sorry it's been forever. Finals got in the way, I had like seven papers due in a row. Anyway, ahm back now, not giving up on this any time soon at all. Can't stop thinking of shit to put in here. **

**So, Warnings: Unbetaed. I've got a good chunk of Elyan interaction in this chapter. I'm in love with Adetomiwa...god, he's beautiful, I couldn't resist. This is really becoming a piece about Morgana, and she and Elyan grew up together to some degree, so I wanted to explore that. Oh, and a little of Gwaine on that warlock we all love (if you're a homophobe, stop reading) Not much else for warnings...Disclaimer: Merlin no be mine.**

**Thanks to all who've reviewed, PLEASE REVIEW! and enjoy the chapter**

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><p><strong>Have Been and Could Be<strong>

Supper came and went, along with Elyan's bloody display with the Southron soldiers after. He didn't have Gwaine's flare for humor, but he'd still become a favorite. Morgana watched him fight with a fast beating heart, her eyes still out of focus from the kiss. Sleeping a few hours had done her absolutely no good—in her dreams she could have sworn Gwaine's fingers had been there, stroking all her body's lines. A jolt ran through her neck and shoulder at the memory and she shrugged violently, as if to throw off a man whose hands weren't actually there.

_Elyan, back to him. Just watch what's in front of you_. She forced her eyes to follow Gwen's brother. The raucous jeers and shouts from the soldiers were more aggressive than they were when Gwaine fought, and Morgana could see why. Elyan was angry, ruthless and quick, brutal for one so small. The fire in his eyes she'd extinguished by torturing him had flared back in full force and he could take down men twice his size now.

Watching such raw power wasn't helping—it only served to remind Morgana of how little of it she had. But it was still a dance, a violent symphony of clang and clash, and anything that could occupy her vision was better than seeing Gwaine's brown eyes and broad chest every time she closed her eyes, seeing his black pupils widen even as he pushed her away…

With a roar that scraped at the walls, Elyan crashed his wooden sword into his opponent's back. Blood smeared all of his mouth and dripped into his eyelashes from a wound atop his head, but he was still standing.

Morgana assumed her customary smirk and began to clap. "Congratulations, Elyan," she called.

His eyes flashed up to her. Half of that fire was still fear when he looked at Morgana. She could see it, she knew it well…fear of a witch. Fear of a thing not human.

Apparently, the only response he had for a thing not human was to walk to the guards, wrists outstretched, ready to be dragged and shackled again.

_Wait_.

"Stop!" she commanded, standing abruptly from her throne. Elyan halted without looking at her and the guards paused. Her eyes narrowed. _How did I not see that during the fight?_ "What are you wearing on your arm?" Morgana heard could hear how thin her voice came out.

Elyan blinked up at her, fear startled away by surprise. "I…I found it in our cell," he replied, glancing down at the simple, silver bracelet. "I've been wearing it ever since."

Morgana's eyebrows rose, and she said nothing until she turned her back. "Take him away."

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><p>There was paperwork to be done. Riders had been sent to all corners of the kingdoms with letters informing of Camelot's new sorceress-queen. By yesterday, almost every one of them had returned with a response and, even though Morgana was shocked she'd lasted long enough on the throne to receive them, she had no intention of revealing that by denying them attention.<p>

The adjoining room in her bedchambers had been Gwen's—now it held a table-desk littered with parchment and various inks and waxes but, even though the maid only stayed the night every so often, it still smelled like lilacs. _Strange to think she's gone_, Morgana thought, a dull pain resting at the center of her ribcage. _The lilac was lovely to have around_. She collapsed into the solid chair.

Each kingdom added a certain flavor to their response. Queen Annis of Carleon's reply was curt, saying something to the effect of "Don't expect your rule to last." King Lot, Cenred's successor, hardly veiled his threats at all; Morgause had left him without an army, so he was no friend to Morgana. King Alined's oil almost dripped off the ink his words had been penned with, eager to be by her magical side.

The work was busying and useful—Gwaine hadn't entered Morgana's mind since she'd begun writing. By the time she finished, night deepened outside her window, but she couldn't sleep yet. The nap she'd taken before supper, while not restful, had done its damage.

She walked down to the dungeons, but this time took a different route.

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><p>Elyan was hunched over a sleeping Gaius, dabbing the old man's forehead with a torn corner of his shirt he dipped in the water left for him. Morgana saw his entire body tense when the click of her shoes echoed through the dungeon, but he didn't look up. "What do you want?" his reedy voice scratched out his throat.<p>

She halted at the sound. _Has he been giving all the water to Gaius?_ "I thought you should know your sister is dead," Morgana said, her words feeling strangely far away, as if someone else standing next to her spoke them instead.

His closed lips widened in a bitter smile. "You've lied about everything else, Morgana. I've got no reason to believe you now."

"Nevertheless, it's true," Morgana repeated. "Gwen is dead." _Why do I care what they believe?_

Elyan inhaled and his thinning chest rose and fell. _No. He's not eating_. "And her adultery?" he kept all his attention still on Gaius. "Have you come to take credit for that as well?"

"Do you think that was me?" Morgana asked, finding her otherwise dulled senses slightly curious at the idea. How many of them were fooled?

For the first time, Elyan paused what he was doing and she saw his fist twitch then release on the damp cloth of the shirt he'd torn. "Gwen's never made a rash decision in her life. She never really could, not while I was around…making mistakes was _my_ role, and I guess she thought our father could only take so much. So when Lance came back…" Gaius stirred and Elyan stopped.

"Shhhh," he smoothed his hands over the old man's shoulder and forehead so gently that Gaius calmed instantly. For one wild moment, anger shot through Morgana at realizing he'd never been around to do that for Gwen. When Elyan next spoke, he lowered his voice.

"I never understood it. Arthur's a great man, a great king, but next to Lancelot…" he shook his head as if he could still see them both standing in front of him, "—anyone could tell who'd make the better husband, and it wasn't Arthur. I knew Gwen had both, that Lance still loved her, but..."

"But what?" Morgana's eyes were bright. She stared unblinkingly at Elyan, watching his eyes pass over memories as if she could see it all over again with him.

"…But, for whatever reason, she loved Arthur. When Lancelot came back from the dead for her, it should have made sense to me when I heard about her betrayal, but it didn't," he looked down at his feet. "Just didn't seem like something Gwen would do, but I guess I'm no one to begrudge her one mistake. So no," finally his eyes flickered, only a second, to Morgana's, "—no, I have no idea if that was you."

Morgana tilted her head to one side. "Are you afraid to look at me, Elyan?"

His mouth tightened as if to prevent a response from escaping his lips. Fury and something else—_hurt_—spread through Morgana's stomach and she knew her hands were trembling again. "Whether or not I controlled her," she tried to keep her voice steady even as her eyes burned, "…doesn't matter really, does it? Arthur will have either been engaged to an adulterous woman, or will have banished an innocent lover to die in the woods. Camelot is ruined either way. It's the end of an era, and good riddance to it."

Elyan's frame was stoic and still as a rock. As he looked up at Morgana, she saw the hard gloss of tears over his eyes that hid whatever fear he had of her. "Do you know the first thing I thought when Gwen was put under your employ all those years ago?" he demanded. Morgana's trembling hand froze, as if it had no life left in it to shake. "I thought _thank god_—she'll be taken care of. She'll be safe with _her_. I was glad someone better than me would be there, looking out for her."

A strangled laugh twisted out Morgana's throat. "Maybe you should have been there, then," she could still see Gwen, broken on her bed, turning away to hide her face. "She cried when you left."

"On the shoulder of the woman who tried to kill her six years later," He was quaking now.

Well," Morgana said quietly. "That's what you get for leaving you family behind. If you don't look out for your own, what happens next is your fault."

"Gwen was your own once, too," he backed away from her, but his eyes never moved.

"I know," the words escaped her mouth, "…I offered her an out when I first took the throne. I wanted her with me. She betrayed me anyway, for the man who _let her father get killed_."

"But Arthur didn't _do_ the killing," Elyan's face was distorted by rage and tears now. "You say Gwen's dead," his voice broke, "…then he's not like you. You're a murderer. You were worth her betrayal."

"No," Morgana's irises brightened with gold and sent his back to the far wall.

He watched her wide-eyed. The backs of his wrists were pinned to the stone and she heard the silver bracelet clang. "You did it then," he choked out, "You killed her." Gaius began to cough, but Morgana didn't care.

"I killed her," her fingers clenched around the bars, knuckles white with straining bones, "—but I couldn't watch her die."

Gaius opened his eyes and slowly looked up in shock at the scene around him. Morgana flared her magic again and dropped Elyan's body to the floor with a thud—his eyes shut in pain, and she was glad…anything to rip her eyes away from the look on his face. _It's emptiness, desperate and screaming to become something_.

"You have a patient on your hands, Gaius," Morgana breathed as she turned around to walk away.

"Gwaine," she froze in her steps. Elyan's voice was ragged and scraped at her ears. "What've you done to Gwaine?"

It was a moment of weakness, but she didn't stop herself from saying it. "No more than he'd done to me."

* * *

><p>"I thought you were finished for a while," his familiar voice sounded out before he was even in her line of vision. Ignoring the thrill in her spine was easy once she saw him—he was sitting in his usual spot on the ground, looking beautiful but about as exhausted as she felt. His eyes were hooded and tired.<p>

"So did I," Morgana responded. Her mouth felt dry. At a loss, she sat down on the floor across from him, leaning against the opposite wall and facing his bars. "I've been to Elyan," she announced. "I told him that Gwen was killed."

His jaw tensed. "And was she?"

"Yes." It was easier to say the second time around.

After a silence, Gwaine's voice responded wry, bitter, and black. "Arthur and Merlin won't let you get away alive now."

"If they ever make it here, that is," Morgana said, equally bitterly. Suddenly an airy, unstable laugh left her throat. "You'd _like_ that though, wouldn't you? _Merlin_, your rescuer, breaking though the guard, charging in here and saving you from the evil witch?"

"Mhm," Gwaine responded absently. Morgana was shocked out of words. The pause lasted. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Morgana," he said softly.

_No. It doesn't_. Hearing his voice drop that low only reminded her more of how it had rippled through her skin…_how was that was only a few hours ago?_

"Then you are in love with him," she felt like a ghost.

The skin around his warm eyes crinkled, and he looked like someone she would have wanted for a friend. _A friend_. _Or a lover. Or someone who would smile like that at me_. "I've never said it out loud before," Gwaine replied, looking at his hands.

Morgana watched him, feeling wrecked and broken. Tired.

She didn't want to fall asleep alone. She wanted to rest in the arms of someone like him. Someone who would know well enough to hate her, but still wouldn't say no.

It wasn't a good idea. It was just the only one she had. She closed her eyes and thought up to her room, on her table, where she'd set her full flask—

—and it appeared in her hand. Gwaine turned and his smile vanished into a gape. Morgana couldn't help but smirk as she held it out in front of him.

"Care for a drink?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Editted a little.**

**We're getting close to the end, you guys. Pretty sure next chapter is going to be either the last or the second to last. **

**This one took a lot of work. I hope it's not a disappointment. I'm proud of it just because of how much time I spent with it, it was really hard to get some of this down.**

**Disclaimer: Merlin does not belong to me. Warnings: The usual. Unbeta-ed. Alcohol. Merwaine discussion. And dark. **

**Hope you guys review this one. For some reason, I'm really afraid of the reaction to this chapter, but I promise you, the story is not over yet. Love you. **

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><p><strong>Have Been and Could Be<strong>

Morgana wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry at the look on Gwaine's face. His eyes bulged and his throat bobbed visibly in a gulp as he stared at the flask. He was an alcoholic, she knew that much from Arthur's complaints about the man when he'd first come to Camelot two years prior, but she hadn't considered what that might mean for him. _After being imprisoned and forced into sobriety for almost a month_…

But when Gwaine reached out through the bars and grabbed the flask, though his hand shook a little, his face was solemn. He raised it high above his head while looking at the floor, and said "To Gwen," before drinking deep and slow.

Morgana nodded without realizing it. "Yes," she said. _To Gwen_.

Gwaine finished his first long swallow. "How did she die?" he asked, still staring at the ground.

"As a doe and by an arrow," Morgana responded thoughtlessly. A hollow laugh escaped Gwaine's throat.

"Is that supposed to be some kind of metaphor?"

"No," Morgana answered tiredly, "…but if you'd rather see it that way, go right ahead."

"She was a good girl," he took another sip, "Hard to think of her ever being hunted."

_That's because no one ever would. No one but me_. "Yes," was all she said. They paused.

"I had an eye for her, you know," Gwaine said abruptly.

Morgana arched her brow, wondering if she heard correctly. "What?"

"The first time I came to Camelot I saw Gwen on the street, called her a princess and gave her a flower," a grin lit his face. "She laughed at me, gave it back, and went on her way."

"A princess," Morgana remarked drily. "Ironic."

"Why, because she was in love with one?" it took Morgana a moment to realize he was referring to Arthur and to laugh out loud. Gwaine glanced up at her for the first time. A ghost of a smile passed over his mouth and he leaned forward to hand the flask through the bars. _Maybe I need that._ She accepted it and drank while he shook his head. "No, if she hadn't already been mixed up with Arthur, I would have tried for a shot with Gwen. I have a weakness for people like her."

"And Merlin," Morgana said before she could stop herself.

Gwaine tilted his chin up and met her eyes. "And Merlin," he agreed quietly.

"_Why?_" Morgana spat, taking a longer drink. _And why doesn't it change the fact that I still want him?_

He shrugged and his eyes warmed. "I don't know, but I always have. Always had it bad for honest, hardworking people like them who never ask for much of anything. I'm not honest, I hate to work, and I want the whole world," he shook his head and turned his eyes down to those calloused hands Morgana remembered too well, "Merlin, he rides into battle with us without a rock to defend himself with and he does it without question. How can you not fall in love with someone like that?"

Morgana silently handed him the flask and tried not to shiver as his fingertips brushed her palm to take it. "Have you told him?" she asked finally.

Gwaine almost giggled as he took a sip. "You mean when I confessed my feelings in a bloody sonnet? Please. He has no idea."

"Why not?" _Why doesn't _anyone_ in this kingdom ever say what they mean?_

Gwaine's jaw twitched. "Because you were right before, in some way," he said, "—he _doesn't_ tell me everything,"

She tried not to feel pathetically smug. "Just how long did it take you to realize?"

He shrugged again. "Lancelot made some vague, secretive hints about how much better Merlin was than the rest of us, but I was sure when found a way to track Gaius's kidnappers and wouldn't let me know how."

Morgana narrowed her eyes. "What way did he find?"

"A little iron ore that he said would lead us to the hiding place. Wasn't hard to guess the caves after that."

Morgana let out a scoff. "Agravaine. He was always clumsy." Gwaine raised a questioning eyebrow at her. "Merlin suspected him of working for me for months. He probably searched the fool's room the moment it was empty."

Gwaine's eyes darted to the left wall as if in quick memory. "Agravaine fed me some story when I found him with a knife at Gaius's throat. Bloody hell…" he hung his head and clenched a fist, "If Merlin had told me, I could have run him through right there…"

"Oh, but then my plan might not have succeeded and we might not have been introduced," she replied. It should have sounded sly, but Morgana felt more as though she was trying to make light of the situation, to make a joke about it. Make him feel better._ I'm ridiculous_.

An odd, strangled growl of laughter escaped his throat. "Well. I suppose I'm not the first who didn't kill someone like him when I had the chance."

The pang that shot through Morgana's chest hurt far more than it should have. "You mean…when Merlin had the chance to kill me?"

Gwaine only nodded.

She breathed deep into her stomach, hoping he didn't see. "Even after all we've been through together?" Morgana's voice succeeded—the question came out smooth and cool as silk, "You would rather Merlin have killed me before we were even introduced?"

He didn't respond for a moment. "Because I can't let you hurt them. I care about them," he said finally.

The truth was simple, and it stung to hear, but she didn't feel angry. Instead she wanted to cry, "…so did I. Look how fantastically that ended for me."

"I'd like to think that I'll make a better example of it than you," Gwaine responded flatly.

"Oh, and how's that?"

"For starters, I won't murder any of my own loved ones."

She opened her mouth to reply, but her words stopped dead in her throat. _There's no way I can defend this. I can't justify it or apologize._ When she said nothing, Gwaine downed another gulp and exhaled slow. "Why Gwen? Of all of us, she was the one who would've done you the _least_ harm."

Morgana tilted her head to look up at the ceiling. She waved a hand and the flask moved from Gwaine's grasp to hers. "She stumbled upon information about my attack on the city. I needed her quiet…" but she stopped again. "No. I've been trying to kill her since I dreamed she would be Camelot's queen."

At the look on Gwaine's face, she realized she needed another long drink. "You went homicidal on your best friend of five years because you had a _dream?_"

She flashed her eyes and an awful rip sounded through the bars. A red streak cut across his shoulder and chest. He didn't even cry out—his only reaction was to wince.

"…Have you gotten too used to me doing that?" Morgana asked carelessly. Her throat was warm now.

Gwaine nodded dully. "Yep."

"Well, don't mock my dreams. They're magical. They come true and they kept me awake my entire childhood—"

He closed his eyes tight, as if trying to shut her out. "That doesn't explain _Gwen_, Morgana."

The image of her maid twirling scarves at the market flashed before her eyes. "I thought she was lovely before any man looked twice at her, you know," Morgana said suddenly. _She deserves the truth_. "No, I…" she slowly shook her head, "—I think I wanted her dead before she'd do what I failed to."

He opened his eyes and stared at her. "What in god's name are you talking about?"

"I mean that I was _scared_," Morgana didn't understand the words until they'd already left her lips, and her eyes widened as she heard them, "I was scared," she repeated, feeling spurred by something in her stomach to keep talking, talking until all of it made sense, "…my entire life here. Gwen and I both, we lost so much to the worst of Camelot. I didn't sleep for twelve years and she had to work for the man who killed her father. Both of us were imprisoned, and we were both risking execution by being there and being who we were _every day_ Uther was alive. If Gwen was crowned, then—"

"…Then what?"

Morgana lifted her head and blinked to look at Gwaine. His expression was blank and eyes were unmoving. "If Gwen, my _maid_, was crowned," she went on slowly, "—then she would have risen _above_ this place and all it ever did to her… I wasn't going to let her do that, not when I couldn't. Not when this kingdom should be mine. Not when it still…haunts me…every day."

Gwaine stared at her for what felt like several minutes. Morgana tried to straighten her back, tried to look defiant and proud, but gave up. It was no use anymore._ I have nothing to be proud of_.

"I think you should give me that flask again," when he finally spoke, Gwaine sounded dead. Morgana tossed it back, feeling just as lifeless until she saw him down the rest of the rum in one tilt.

"Have you even eaten?" she asked incredulously.

"No."

Morgana swore under her breath. "I hope you don't expect me to take care of you when that hits," she snapped wearily.

"You gave me a flask full of rum," he shot back, also sounding exhausted. "Way I see it, you asked for this." _I did, _Morgana remembered._ And you said you'd do what I asked. _"By the way," Gwaine remarked after a moment, "It's disgusting. You have awful taste in liquor."

Something a little like her old smirk came back to her lips. "Well, it's cheap. I like it. In some ways, I think I was better suited to life in a hovel."

"More so than a castle?" Gwaine's mouth smiled slightly. "I was too. You've got to admit, though," he glanced up, "—this is a hell of a kingdom to call home. You can't get these people or this place out of your heart once they've left their mark."

Morgana raised her brows and felt her pulse warm with racing again. "Don't think I've ever heard you sound so sentimental."

He leaned his head back and she watched the torches on the walls dance patterns in his eyes. "You don't know me very well. You haven't seen me getting drunk."

"No," Morgana's voice came out quiet, "…I suppose I haven't."

She wasn't expecting Gwaine to start laughing. "We're quite the pair, you know?"

A thrill ran up her spine. "What do you mean?"

"If we'd met a few years ago, I think we would have made great friends."

Morgana waited until her heart slowed to say a word. "And as we stand now?" she whispered.

Gwaine didn't hesitate, "I'll watch them kill you through these bars without a thought," but his eyes didn't meet hers, "…I'd just rather not do it myself."

Something seemed to strangle the base of her throat. Morgana fought the urge to claw at it, claw it away. "Why?" When he said nothing, she kept going before there was time to change her mind, "Could you ever care about me?"

He finally met her eyes. "I could have," he was starting to sound a little slurred. "I doubt anymore."

She felt something snap inside her. "Why not?"

Gwaine frowned at her and shook his head. "How can you expect me to answer any differently?" _I don't know, but I do every time_. "Look at who you are. Look at who you're still trying to _kill_, Morgana."

"You know why—"

"Did you think that would make a _difference_?" he glared down at the floor and closed his eyes, "I understand you. I even want you. It doesn't change a thing. Those are still the people who made this place a home for me when I thought I wouldn't have one again."

"Including Merlin," she said bitingly.

"Yes, including Merlin. Leave him out of this, already—"

"You're in love with him and you want me. I can't."

Gwaine's eyes widened as he lifted them to her. "That's what this is about?" His lips parted and he looked as though he couldn't believe the sight of her, "When I kissed you earlier?"

"Yes, and I wanted you to!" Morgana could have shrieked. "Look at who _you_ are. Look at who you're still _loyal_ to. I shouldn't want to have anything to do with you, I shouldn't hang onto every word you have to say!" her hands tensed so badly she could see every bone that made them through her skin and her nails clawed at the floor as if she were trying to lift it from beneath them, "No one's ever told me everything before," she stared at Gwaine with desperate strain in her eyes and mouth as if she was asking him for something she'd never known she wanted in the first place, _Tell me I'll be alright, tell me it doesn't have to end as badly as I dreamt it will..._ "I don't know what to do," she whispered.

Gwaine watched her as if she were spinning before his eyes. He closed his eyes again, lifted a hand to his forehead and dug his palm into it. "That flask is hitting me now," he said at last, his voice now definitely thicker, "You should go if you don't want to see this."

Morgana shook her head vehemently, her mouth tight. "Not yet. No, you always have something to say, Gwaine. So say it."

He paused and glared up at her through his half open lids. "Fine. If the warning bell sounded out, and this palace came under fire—if Arthur," he breathed out slow, deliberate with every word, "Or Merlin, or Leon were to walk through that door right now and lay their swords down in front of you, then what would you do?" he leaned closer to the bars and wouldn't release her from his bloodshot gaze—she tried to lean back, terrified of what was racing through her, "What would be your first instinct to do?"

All their faces swam before her in her mind and the scenes were all different and clear. Merlin, whose memory had tortured her so in the last few weeks with his closed mouth and that shift in his eyes when she told him how scared she felt, who she had seen everywhere in the palace and dreamed of in Gwaine's strong arms—Leon, who she'd grown up with and beaten at swordplay a thousand times until he smiled so defiantly up in the face of her arrow—Arthur. She hadn't thought of Arthur as anything other than the chess piece guarding her throne in a long time. Her little brother, her beautiful golden brother…the boy who never knew, never guessed what she was, who was blind as Uther and loved her just as much. Who never listened to her even when he'd known her the best. He loved the father that ruined them, that turned him against what she was, against the people she now called her own, the magic that made her whole…

_None of them could ever bring me back._

Her heart beat with black anger that pumped through her veins. It shot to her hand and clenched it in a fist. She felt her nails bite her palm and felt the teeth in her mouth and the magic in her throat. Her burning eyes met Gwaine's hard ones she knew he saw it.

_I'm still Uther's daughter. I'd still kill them all._

Gwaine's eyes were blank as he bowed his chin down. His hair hung over his face. "You'd better not let me out of this cell armed again. And if you do, best make sure there's an army of guards between you and me so I don't bring you down."

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><p>The next morning jolted Morgana awake with a scream against something solid. She barely registered that she was on the floor of her room, that her sheets tumbled in a tangled drape like a waterfall from her bed that must have spilled her writhing body away and to the ground. Her eyes instead went straight to the windowsill, where her bracelet rested.<p>

She hadn't worn it the night before. Her dream. _The dream_.

"They're coming," she said aloud to the floor. "They're almost here."


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm so so sorry this took forever, you guys.**

**Warnings: This is the longest chapter I have ever written. Disclaimer: Merlin is not mine.**

**And the part in the middle of this chapter is a shout-out to my most awesome teacher, Deb.**

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><p><strong>Have Been and Could Be<strong>

_One last fight. One for each of us. _Whether it was Emrys or Arthur that would arrive in a day, Morgana wasn't sure, but someone was on their way to bring her from the throne to her knees. Dread loomed over her heart, and she wasn't sure how it would happen, but the dreams didn't lie.

_After tomorrow, Camelot will have won. _

The Knights would only be hers for one more day.

_One last fight. That will be enough for now._

Elyan was first, quicker and more animalistic than he'd ever been in the ring before. After it was over, he ignored the guards trying to restrain him and seized the chance to charge howling at Morgana, his sister's killer, through the mob. She watched him, her eyes wide and sharp with silent warning even while her heart quaked at seeing the way he bared his clenched teeth at her. It took four of Helios's men to shackle him. When they finally lead him out, she didn't say a word.

Gwaine was lead out next. He stood there and, for a moment, Morgana couldn't stop herself from wondering at how beautiful he was, more so even than the day he kissed her. The late sun through the windows was deep gold that made the shadows cast by his sharp nose and cheeks harsh, and his eyes looked bright and yellow almost as if with magic. Time stopped while he stood in that glare, her lips parted at the sight, and then the grey of metal and black of armor came crashing down and ruined the picture.

Something of him was back. Morgana noticed it immediately—for the first time since she had come to speak to him in his cell, he was smiling as he swung the sword. He wasn't taunting the soldiers, the way he used to before they'd exchanged more than ten words, but that slight, sharp grin on his lips was enough to entrance her eyes and light her skin on fire again. She didn't touch her wine, she didn't move an inch. Her chair was at the head of the table, highest in the room, and she was watching a display so powerful that it kept her a queen. _Gwaine made me Queen_. If he hadn't been willing to fight in front of her whole army for Gaius this way, _they wouldn't have stayed loyal to me for so long_. _They trust that fear. They trust me for being able to shackle someone that brave and reckless_, like him.

_They never figured out what someone like that could do to me._

The fight clashed on, soldiers dove and drove at him with little successes here and there but he kept standing while they traded places. At one point, Gwaine tossed his head back and laughed out loud.

_I'm only made to rule soldiers,_ Morgana realized with dull hurt. _Not warriors. Not Knights._ Her gaze stayed glued to Gwaine, teeth shining as he smiled, and before her eyes he became flashes of every Knight and warrior she'd ever known, ever lost…Arthur. Merlin. Elyan, Gaius, Leon. Annis and Alator. Lancelot before the Shade. Gwen before she died. Even Helios wasn't hers, he was too strong to be. She couldn't command them. _Command them to forgive me. Command them to love me_.

When Gwaine was finally beaten, she barely noticed a thing. Even crumpled in a bruised heap on the floor, was still smiling as if he won long ago. She wondered vaguely if, maybe, he actually did. _They command me_.

Morgana rose from her seat and stood, looming and tall, over her little kingdom of bloody ghosts. The soldiers stared up at her over Gwaine, and she stared back, wondering when next she'd look down at and army and find it this small.

"Leave him," her gaze swept over each pair of eyes in the room, "Leave us."

She heard a muffled scoff from behind her and glanced apathetically out the corner of her eye at Helios before he followed the rest of the soldiers filing out. His opinion of her mattered so little now that she knew he would go down fighting with her. _They all clamor for this kingdom. He wanted to keep it even more than he's ever let on. _

_Maybe Gwaine was right. It's something about Camelot. _

The heavy oak doors shut behind them, with Helios shooting her one last bitter smirk that she didn't return. The enormous room echoed with the sudden emptiness. Slowly, Morgana stepped down and circled Gwaine's curled up body on the ground. His eyes weren't open, but that smile was still on his face as if to prove they hadn't managed to beat him unconscious. "You going to heal me, your Highness, or not?" his voice rasped out in between coughing laughs.

Morgana's eyebrows rose. "I thought you said you'd keep your scars."

"Mhm, well, I'm hungover. I'm less honorable in this condition and everything was already hurting _before_ you sicked your dogs on me."

She restrained herself from rolling her eyes. "Eremeya hidelech," she muttered, watching the scrapes and bruises lessen. He sighed out and smiled deeper.

"Thanks."

"Aren't you capable of standing on your own now?" Morgana asked flatly.

"Yes, but the floor is a good place to be sometimes. And are you sure you want me standing? I _did_ promise to kill you."

Morgana nodded. "I know."

"That's all you've got to say, for once?"

She cocked her head indifferently. "You're not the only one who's made that promise, and you won't be the one to keep it."

He opened his eyes and turned onto his back to frown up at her. She let her eyes roam slowly over his frame, without a care in the world that he was watching her. His shirt must have gotten torn one more time too many, because he hadn't worn it to the fight. Past the bruises and in between scratches it was flawless and smooth. He had the broad shoulders of a hero. "Why do you say that?" he asked, after trying to hide a swallow. Morgana heard it, and saw his throat bob. With a wave of her hand, she lifted him to his feet. His eyes grew too wide.

"Since when are you afraid of me?" Morgana glided nearer to him until they were barely inches apart.

"Since I can't seem to move my legs or arms," Gwaine responded through gritted teeth.

Pulse racing, Morgana lifted her hand and touched his wrist. Her eyes flared yellow and his shoulders flexed back, released from the magic's tension, and his arms sprang to life. His feet, however, wouldn't budge. "I don't want you to walk away," she said quietly.

"What are you doing, Morgana?" Gwaine's voice was hoarse. She smiled. _It sounds nice that way_.

"What do you think I'm doing?" she trailed a finger up his arm. It tensed beneath the scrape of her skin, the sharp of her nail…

"You gave me back my hands," he whispered, "How do you know that I won't try and strangle you?"

She met his stare. "I won't let you," she flashed her eyes as proof. His only widened further and he swallowed again. "They're coming, you know."

He had to blink twice before he seemed to realize she'd said anything. "Who's coming?"

Morgana shook her head. "It doesn't matter. They'll be here by midday. I've got one last night left on that throne."

He frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Wait for it tomorrow," she said hollowly. "Tell me then my nightmares don't come true."

Gwaine's eyes searched her face. "What will happen to you, then?"

She felt her own eyes burn as she met the stare. "Maybe I'll live. Maybe I'll die. Maybe I'll finally get a good night's sleep." Her finger reached his shoulder, collarbone. She cupped a hand around the nape of his neck and let her nails brush through his hair. _One last time_. His eyes darkened.

"You won't let me move," Gwaine's voice shook and she felt it race through her skin.

"You shouldn't have done this to me," her words came out in a rasp as she leaned completely into him. "And I shouldn't have let you." She landed her mouth onto his.

Gwaine's hands grabbed at her shoulders and tried to push her away, once, twice, too many to count, and each time she lashed back with her lips, hands, and magic, and until he finally stopped and pulled her closer to him by her waist. Morgana felt her body meet his and the contact of his skin made her wish her own feet were magicked to the ground so she wouldn't feel about to collapse. Her heart was in her lungs and she lead his lips with hers as if she'd kissed him a thousand times before, as if she wasn't shaking like mad when his arms tensed to hold her even tighter, as if she wasn't about to fall to pieces.

"Is this—" he gasped when she released his mouth and moved to his neck, scraping it with her teeth, "…what are you doing?"

"Taking what I want," she said, hands exploring his chest and back while her mouth trailed up to his ear, "That's all I'm good for," she strengthened her grasp, his skin felt too good against her fingers. Every cut and scar was texture, each more exciting than the rest and she felt her breath rush through fast and shallow and keeping time with his speeding heartbeat.

"Stop," she barely heard him say it, "_Stop_." Gwaine's rough hands were suddenly at her neck and forcing her lips away from his skin. Morgana's first thought was that he actually _was_ about to strangle her, so she grabbed desperately at his wrists, tried to pull herself away, but he was holding her head away strong and still, even while his eyes were bloodshot and wild.

For what felt like minutes, Morgana kept staring at him, watching him pant just as heavily as her, unable to move. "What are you doing?"

Gwaine's eyes flickered down to her lips, and he leaned in and kissed her again, but it was different this time. Morgana's body froze in shock at how slow and sweet his mouth moved over hers, how his hand cupped her chin gently as if she were something small and fragile.

_Holding me as if I'll break, because I just might._

When he eventually stopped, and let her lips go, she opened her eyes to find the world spinning in front of her. Only Gwaine stood solidly in place, and she couldn't believe the way he was looking at her, with warm eyes and a set mouth _as if he could almost care_. Looking at him felt like a confirmation, almost as much as her still quivering heart, that she could have been something else. Something more. Someone he could have loved.

Gwaine released his grip on her chin and untangled his other hand from her hair. "You should let me go," he said quietly. "You have a big day tomorrow."

Morgana nodded, still staring at him with wide eyes, wondering if anyone else would ever be that gentle with her again. "You're free to leave," she stammered out, ripping her gaze from him to the floor and snapping her fingers. The magic unshackled his legs, only to move to his arms as the guards came up to escort him out.

Gwaine nodded one last time. "I'll see you then."

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><p>Warm milk, with honey and vanilla, was what Gwen used to make her when Gaius's syrupy sleeping draughts did nothing. Morgana learned how to cook from herself while living without Morgause in her old hut, but she'd forgotten about the milk. Now, it was the only thing her tongue seemed to crave, so she travelled down to the kitchens, swept through the terrified, gaping cooks, and placed a kettle over the fire.<p>

When it began to whistle, she imagined it was Gwen, screaming.

Morgana poured herself a mug and walked wordlessly out and up to her chamber. She was asleep before she knew it, and before she realized she'd forgotten once more to put her bracelet on.

"I thought I'd pay you a visit before you die tomorrow," the cultured voice crept over her. Morgana didn't want to open her eyes. She could already smell the fire and smoke.

"You're not real," she tried to say calmly over the rattle of her own bones.

"Perhaps, perhaps not," grated the voice. "But shouldn't you do me the courtesy of opening your eyes to speak to me anyway? After all, we've never truly met face to face."

Morgana obeyed without thinking. The dragon's neck loomed over her, smiling with too many sharp edges of teeth and scales. Only reminding herself that she was dreaming kept her from listening to her hard-pounding heartbeat and bolting backwards. "Where are we?" she asked, breathing in the black coal and wet stone surrounding her.

"In the cave below the castle that your dear father penned me in. It's how he gave himself a name, much in the same way you call yourself a queen by imprisoning a kingdom," he said slyly.

Morgana felt fury tremble her hands. "Did you come here to taunt me?" she lifted her back off the ground and demanded. "Wasn't terrifying me my entire childhood _good_ _enough_ for you?"

"Obviously not," the dragon's voice reminded Morgana chillingly of a string, tensing and tightening with each word, almost to the point where its snap seemed inevitable, "…if this is what you turned into anyway. The witch who'd ruin the chance at Albion."

The way he drew out the word "witch" somehow inflamed both Morgana's fear and strength to fight it. "_You_ ruined _me!_" she shrieked into the cave's clashing echo. "You kept me awake half of every night since I came to this place. I was too young to be fueled by fire alone!"

She watched the dragon's eyes widen than narrow to dangerous slits. "You dare try to blame _me_ for who you are?"

Morgana's lip curled and her teeth felt sharp behind it. "No one can be blamed for that. I blame you for what I've _done_."

Kilgarrah. She remembered his name from nowhere, out of another dream, when she saw him smile again. "And I suppose you think there is a difference between the two. You believe what you've done is worse that what you were born as."

"I don't believe," Morgana felt life in the words, and truth that made her strong. "I know."

The dragon raised his head. "I have lived for thousands of years before your time, witch. I recognized you for a traitor to your own kind the moment you set foot on this land."

"And you were wrong!" she bellowed. "I wasn't a traitor until you _made_ me one!"

Something passed over the dragon's enormous face that Morgana didn't understand or care to define. "You defy me and somehow think me responsible for it all. It is astonishing," he said, almost bemusedly, "—how like Emrys you really are."

Even though she could feel the dragon's heat radiating off him in waves of smoke, her veins turned to ice at the mention of that name. "Emrys protects Arthur," her voice shook. "He defends a _Pendragon_ along with you. How can you call _me_ a traitor to my own kind?"

"Because _you_ are the _true_ Pendragon," Kilgarrah's voice sounded commanding and powerful like a god's, "Your father's mark never left you, and he recognized it. He saw more of himself in you than in Arthur, and he was right. That's why he loved you better than Arthur even after all you had done," the dragon neared her face. His eyes were so enormous, so much larger than hers that she couldn't believe they managed to meet in a stare. "By destroying you, we will destroy all that is truly left of him. You are no more fit to rule than he was."

"Maybe I'm not," Morgana realized out loud. For whatever reason, with each word that left her mouth, she felt more and more like something that would not bend, would not break. Something strong, like stone and steel. "But you don't know the witch you created, and I will fight you until my last breath to show you _who she is_."

Her voice rang through the cavern, the dragon roared and his fire burned through her dream's skin and she awoke, ready.

* * *

><p>When Helios burst through her door and the alarum bells accompanied him, she'd been waiting. A hungry smile dressed his face.<p>

"Emrys?" she asked feverishly.

"Arthur," he corrected, biting happily into the name with his teeth. His grin was contagious, and Morgana was gladder than she thought she could be, knowing Helios would be there with her, killing and laughing with her until the bitter end. "Good," she said. Arthur was no dragonlord of nightmare. Arthur, she could defeat. Arthur, who she hadn't spoken with face to face in over a year.

_Finding out he was my brother made all the difference in the world. He's my kin. He should have known it when I needed him._ Morgana could still see his face turn from her after she'd seen his death in her dreams, when she'd raced screaming down the stairs outside the castle to warn him and still he pulled away. _Can't ignore me now, can you little brother? _

Hideous red cloaks whipped in the wind and surrounded the castle's base, and the armed and bloodthirsty dark-clad southrons did their best to drown the color while clashing metal clanged with the warning bell's toll. Morgana saw all of this flash before her eyes as she and Helios made their way to the throne room. They passed the steps to the dungeons, and with a fleeting longing, she wondered whether or not Gwaine was alright. The throneroom door latched shut behind them. "I'm going to enjoy this," she drawled out loud.

They didn't have to wait long.

"FOR THE LOVE OF CAMELOT!" a familiar collection of voices was drowned by the sudden release of the latch. In stumbled Arthur, looking as brave and beautiful as he did the day Morgana stopped noticing it. His face changed the moment he laid eyes on her, lounging on the throne, smiling as if she hadn't been through hell and back again in time since he last saw her.

"Welcome, dear brother," she said smoothly. "It's been far too long." Blue to green, their eyes locked and the room seemed to stop. Brother to sister, knight to witch. King to Queen. She stood and made her slow way towards him, walking like slinking fugitive instead of like a lady. _Better to be someone he'll hardly recognize_.

"I apologize if you've had a difficult reception," Morgana said carelessly before noticing Merlin, standing steadfast and alert at Arthur's right. Her heart and voice darkened, "It's hard to know who to trust these days."

Merlin met her eyes as they flickered to him for one hard second. She escaped his unflinching gaze and swept over the enemies in front of her—there were only five of them. Merlin, two on the left that she didn't recognize, and someone standing behind Arthur…he moved a slow step closer to her, and she saw who was there. Gwen.

_Gwen_.

Morgana stopped breathing.

Gwen was there, holding out a quivering blade, looking terrified at the sight of Arthur nearing his sister, holding up his sword. _I didn't kill her_. _I'm not a murderer._

That sword.

Arthur sheathed it with a scraping sound that Morgana barely noticed. He was inches away from her, and she froze. For the first time, her brother knew the truth, and recognized all its ugliness in her. She wanted to shiver. He'd never met his sister the witch before, and she had never seen him look so human and grown up, as he did now.

"What happened to you, Morgana?" he asked, voice hoarse. She could hardly believe he was standing before her, asking that question. _I don't know_. "I thought we were friends."

Morgana felt her throat go dry. "As did I." _Where were you two years ago?_ "But, alas, we were both wrong," her voice sounded like brittle rock, trying to hold shape and only about to shatter.

"You can't blame me for my father's sins." _I have to. You're all I've got left to blame._

"It's a little late for that," she breathed. "You're not so different from Uther as you'd like to think—" _as the dragon thinks_—

"Neither are you," Arthur cut her off. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him look so upset and hurt. Morgana realized then that she hadn't quite lost all hope…_this could end for the better, everything could still be okay_…until now.

_All of them. They were right_.

"I'm going to enjoy killing you, Arthur Pendragon," she hissed again, hoping if she repeated it enough times it would eventually be true.

_I wasn't a murderer. I shouldn't have been_…

"Not even Emrys can save you now," the name scorched her tongue on its way out her lips and she knew her hatred was strong enough to do it. But when Arthur stepped back towards his friends and nodded, looking so sorry, she felt her resolve start to break. It took the screech of his steel being ripped from his scabbard to remind her divided heart what side she'd landed on. He'd be prepared to kill her. _I'll have to be the same_.

"Your blades cannot stop me," Morgana tried to laugh, but with Arthur, Merlin, and Gwen all staring at her, all swallowing every hesitant emotion that fought to lower their swords, she stopped cold.

_How could I laugh at this?_

Arthur looked on with heartbroken resolve, Gwen's eyes were wide and horrified even as her jaw was tense and strong, and Merlin just looked resigned. Grim and ready.

She raised her strained hand. _Get it over quickly_.

"_Heleah bonbek," _she whispered.

And nothing happened.

Morgana's eyes flashed down to her hand. Her chin almost trembled. She strengthened her arm again.

"_HELEAH BONBEK_."

Still nothing. Morgana's heart hammered furiously in her chest, her breathing sped and shallowed, and that was when she felt it. Smoke. Fumes in her chest. She looked frantically down at her body and knew she was swallowed. Magic was being choked from her lungs.

_The dragon_.

Horror-stricken, her eyes jumped back to her brother. His solemn face hadn't changed. "Not so powerful now, my lady?" he said quietly.

The fumes swarmed her body and made her thin as vapor. The strength in Arthur's eyes broke her, scattered Morgana to the wind while her stare darted over each face in front of her. A strong arm and hand reached out—Helios—he stood between her and the faces, solid and angry while they looked determined. Swords were out and ready.

_I'm nothing. Vapor. Swords will cut through me. _

Morgana turned and ran.

"AFTER HER!" she heard Arthur shout behind her, but whoever was following her didn't matter. The castle was lost. Her magic lost with her crown. Her soldiers. Her captives. Gwaine. Gone. All she could hope to escape with was her life.

Violently she tore a sword from the sheath of a screaming soldier racing down the hall, clutching his bloody side. The next corner she turned was swarming with red cloaks, each diving savagely for her and each losing their life. She pulled out every trick of Gwaine's that her bones remembered, slicing and stabbing unforgivingly. _All I've got left. The air I breathe and the steel to defend it_. One hallway cleared.

She turned the next corner feeling deadly and inhuman.

Then, just when she was sure she'd make it out unscathed, red swept into the corner of her eye and slashed at her ribs. Even as she spun around to sweep her sword across his torso, the pain struck through her and sent her limping across the rest of the stone. She winced with every step and only her blank fury and desire to drive away the fumes in her stomach kept her walking, blindly, toward any near exit.

But when she approached the next corner, there it was. Hanging sweetly on the air, she could smell it. Lilac.

Gwen.

_My final test_.

With a bleak certainty that spread a stillness through her bones, Morgana knew.

_This time that I kill her, I'll have to watch her die_.

The corridors had cleared for them. All was empty save a crackling torch, her own heartbeat, and the few quiet steps she heard of Gwen's…she couldn't stand it any longer. Morgana rounded the corner.

The first thing she noticed about her maidservant was that she looked beautiful. Even after being exiled, Gwen still looked healthier than her, and it stung Morgana's eyes to see it.

For a few moments, they only stared. Gwen's neck tensed with a sharp intake of breath and she tilted her chin upward, as if trying to somehow look taller in the presence of the woman who'd been her best friend until she killed her. Morgana couldn't help the way her lips quirked at it before they fell. _Of course my test would be you_. Gwen's raised sword looked uncertain in a way her eyes did not. There was fear in them, Morgana could see that, but more than that there was accusation. Anger. _You were guilty of nothing except survival. Always us against this kingdom of men._

Morgana met those furious brown eyes and shook her head.

Gwen couldn't beat her, but the way the maidservant bared her teeth and gripped her sword tighter, she didn't seem to care.

The first swing was Morgana's. Their metal sang.

"What did I _do_ to make you _hate_ me so much?" Gwen grunted through her grinding jaw as she received every blow.

"It's not what you did, it's what you're destined to do," Morgana sped through every move so the kill would come faster, "I'm sorry, Gwen, but I can't let that happen," _If it does, I'll be nothing_—

Gwen's eyes flared at the answer and Morgana felt like saying sorry again, that she knew it wasn't good enough, but she found herself suddenly being forced back. Gwen had a good arm and had always been strong. Her attacks landed with power, but they were also slower, and she'd never been taught well enough with footwork…even with her injured side throbbing, Morgana sidestepped and swung Gwen's blade out of her hand without hesitation…her point was at the curve of her neck…the end came fast…

Stunned and horrified, with tears lining the red veins of her eyes, she gaped at Morgana and Morgana hated her. Hated Gwen for being so slow, for not being able to escape again, for ever trusting Morgana in the first place.

She pulled back her sword and clenched her jaw. Gwen was struck numb.

_I'll make it fast._

_It's over now._

Morgana drove her blade at Gwen's throat.

_I'll make it out alive_—

All sound in the room halted then exploded.

* * *

><p>Sailing backwards through the air—a collapsing ceiling—heavy rock landing with splitting crashes, in tumbles of whirling dust…<p>

All was black for what felt like hours that ended up being a few seconds. Morgana blinked and saw the wall of shattered stone and gray before her. _The castle fell on me. Fell on Morgause, fell on me. It doesn't want me here. It doesn't want me to walk out of it alive._

Those were the only thoughts her dizzied head could form.

Two shadows stood behind it. Without needing to see them clearly, she knew they belonged to Gwen and Merlin. _People like them_, she heard Gwaine say, _never ask for anything. We want the whole world_…

The whole world.

Suddenly, she felt something bright and cool springing to life in her chest. It was faint, but she recognized it. Magic. The fumes had faded away, had released her magic.

Frantically she hurtled her glance back towards the shadows again. She couldn't let them grow any clearer, get any nearer to her. For the second time she turned and fled, pulling on every strain of that power. It wasn't much. It was enough.

When she next blinked, she was outside the back walls, crumpling onto the ground and watching her red blood stain the green blades of grass.

* * *

><p><strong>Not over yet. Stay tuned for the epilogue, and please review :)<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**Endings are hard.**

**No warnings. Merlin isn't mine.**

**Thank you all so much for reading this, you guys. I hope this doesn't disappoint.**

* * *

><p><span>Have Been and Could Be: Epilogue<span>

He was smiling so wide it had begun to hurt his jaw. Since the rest of his body had been bruised purple by Morgana's guards on the way out of the throne room the day before, hurt wasn't something he particularly needed more of at the moment.

When Percival and Leon found them in the cells, he forgave them instantly for forgetting that pint he'd been hoping for upon being released. Gaius was still breathing, and when Leon mentioned Gwen's name, Elyan buried his head into his shoulder and stained his armor with tears to hear she was alive.

The battle was almost won.

Gwaine felt strangely numb about that.

He knew better than to think it was over.

They all hobbled out through one of the lower passageways out the dungeon. Gwaine leaned on Leon and, when they reached the exit, the taste of fresh air was enough to waken all his other senses and remember what was happening and _had_ happened.

"Merlin," he coughed out, turning to Leon and grasping his shoulder harder. "Where's Merlin?"

Leon moved Gwaine's straining hand. "He's alive," he said softly. "He went to find Morgana with Arthur and Gwen."

Merlin, Arthur, Gwen, and Morgana. It was _not_ a combination of names that Gwaine wanted to hear in the same sentence or picture in the same room. "I have to go find them—" he got two steps away before he stumbled. Leon caught him by the arm.

"It's not your fight anymore, Gwaine," he cut off his protests. "We got you out of there. For now, you need to get some bandages on."

Gwaine grudgingly nodded, but only because he didn't have the strength to turn back and run. After seeing Morgana heal him, the Southrons had been furious enough to cut him up again themselves. Several of them were under the impression that she'd been fucking him, and he hadn't taken a beating that badly without being healed afterwards since he began training her. Now there was a certain speed at which he could to breath before his cracked ribs started reminding him they were cracked.

Aside from the pain, though, something still felt wrong.

_CRASH_.

The sound was dulled with distance, but it still shook with gravity. They whipped their heads back to the castle, but could see nothing there. Gwaine's throat let out something strangled. He knew what was wrong now. None of them could win. Not win the castle, not win the battle, but Merlin. Arthur. Gwen. Morgana. They were done for.

He had no idea how. But if the fight was to the death, Gwaine knew that not one of those four would walk out alive.

Percival recovered first. "Keep going," he growled.

Elyan shook his head wildly. "My sister's in there—"

Leon's voice was firm. "We have to move." Elyan quieted, and hope faded from his eyes. Gwaine didn't feel much differently. They limped on.

The makeshift camp lay over a hill, just before the edge of the woods. He dimly recognized some of the people tending to the wounded fighters as fellow tavern-goers, people from the lower town. Percival set him down on the grass and waved someone with a cloth over. Gwaine lied down on his back and felt them dab his skin with water almost as cool as magic, feeling as though it could somehow seep the purple color from his bruises. When next he opened his eyes, he felt well enough to sit up straight again.

"I knew I'd see you again soon," the voice broke over Gwaine like the water—it was everything in a voice he wanted to hear. He turned around to see Merlin, standing over him and smiling wide, and he almost couldn't believe his eyes. "No man of Morgana's could ever come close to killing _you_," Merlin said, looking almost proud.

Without saying a word, Gwaine was on his feet and grasping Merlin so tight in his arms that he seemed to start choking. "You're alright," he breathed.

"Yes, Gwaine," he felt a hand rub his bare, tingling back and there was a laugh in Merlin's voice. A tired laugh, but still a laugh. "I am."

Gwaine refused to let him go. "She didn't get to you."

The laugh was gone. "No. She didn't."

"You're all alright," Gwaine found himself nodding furiously at nothing. "All of you would have died if one of you died."

Merlin broke the embrace moved Gwaine back by his shoulders, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

His perfect blue eyes were searching. Gwaine felt frozen, and slowly shook his head. "I don't know. You're just here." The perfect blue eyes narrowed, and Gwaine didn't like it. They were too beautiful to be hidden by his eyelids. If Gwaine had his way, Merlin would never blink them at all.

It dawned on Gwaine that he was, quite possibly, losing his mind.

After all, Morgana was still out there.

Morgana.

"Gwaine?" Merlin's perfect, uncertain voice. "Maybe you should sit down…" he took his shoulder and arm and lowered him back to the ground.

Merlin's hands were always strong and careful. Gwaine was grateful of it because he was beginning to feel a little dizzy. Like the hills were shaking.

Morgana.

Thining about her while in Merlin's solid presence made the whole world before him seem unsteady.

His stare moved to the castle, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Merlin follow his gaze. They sat still, watching and listening to the few swords left on the parapet, clashing their way to the exits in hopes of escaping the remnants of the battle. "Is it over?" Gwaine asked finally.

Merlin nodded. "Helios is dead, and Morgana disappeared. They have nothing else to fight for."

Morgana.

Gwaine's lips moved, but they couldn't wrap around the name. He couldn't say it out loud.

Her sharp face flashed across his mind.

"Did she tell me the truth?" the question was out of Gwaine's mouth before it even occurred in his head. Merlin whipped his head around to face him. "Was she lying about all of it?"

The blue eyes weren't narrowed this time. They were wide and still. "What did she tell you?" Merlin asked slowly.

"That she would have drank the poison herself if you told her everything."

After a clanging pause, Merlin closed his eyes. The whole time, Gwaine stared at him, realizing that he'd always thought of Merlin as young. Even after he'd figured out how the servant kept secrets to himself, Gwaine had always seen him slight and delicate as his frame, and reckless as child. But the Merlin in front of him now, who leaned forward and inhaled slowly with eyes shut tight, wasn't young. He was ageless, timeless and tired.

"Maybe she was, maybe she wasn't," Merlin's voice echoed like it was hollow. "It can't matter anymore."

For a sharp second, Gwaine didn't recognize the man he was in love with or the world around them.

"Can't matter?" he repeated weakly.

Merlin's mouth tightened and he shook his head. "The second I _let_ it matter is the second I'll hesitate, and she's done too much wrong to be allowed to live."

"Why does it have to be you who decides?" Gwaine asked. Merlin's startled eyes turned and studied him, as if trying to decipher whether the question was an accusation or not.

Gwaine wasn't sure, either.

Eventually, Merlin just smiled a sad smile, and he looked more like himself again. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Gwaine swallowed. The ground still felt like it was rolling beneath him. Without deciding to, he dropped his head to rest on Merlin's shoulder. It was more comfortable and less bony than it looked. More importantly, it was steadying, and when Merlin rested his own head on top of his, Gwaine felt a warmth in his chest that he wanted badly to last forever.

It didn't. Soon he felt cold.

In so many ways, the narrow, boxed-in cell made more sense. Open air was too much space for his scattered brain.

They sat there until the sounds of the swords finally died to a quiet on the castle wall, and Gwaine couldn't stay.

Resisting the urge to kiss Merlin's shoulder, he stood up slowly for the sake of his wobbly legs and walked away from the camp. He felt the blue eyes follow him, but stopped himself from turning back. The further away he got, the more everything hurt.

* * *

><p><em>Back in the forest. I missed the forest.<em>

Every breath she took was dry and short, and pain flooded her bones after each step she landed, but Morgana loved the forest. She hadn't been back in it since she took the throne. _Maybe I belonged here_. While she'd been living in her Escetir hovel, everything made a clear, single sense—take back Camelot, take back home. It wasn't until she succeeded locking herself in its stone that everything fell apart.

_I should have stayed in the woods_.

Mindlessly, Morgana kept walking. The battle was almost completely won by the time she'd ducked between the trees, and none of the soldiers camped outside the city walls caught sight of her. She'd been careful. Now she felt safe enough not to be. Her vision swam before her eyes and the blurred the dripping and fallen leaves around her in dizzying color. The ground was padded and crinkling beneath her tripping feet, and the air smelled fresh with bark and cloud.

She reached the base of a little hill and felt her legs buckle beneath her. Morgana didn't plan on dying, just resting. _I left with my life. The castle can't have me anymore_. She curled up against the slope and closed her too-bright eyes. The black of sleep wrapped her in something warm as a cocoon and she almost forgot completely about the blood pulsing from her opened ribcage.

_Snap_.

Twig. A twig.

_Step_.

Morgana couldn't open her eyes. Everything would hurt again if she did.

But someone was standing over her, on top of the next hill.

Red seeped into her vision, but she opened them.

_Gwaine_.

His face was harsh and drawn back. Morgana blinked and felt something fall from her eyes, absently recognizing them as tears from the pain. She opened her mouth and tried to speak, tried to say everything, but couldn't make a sound.

"What are you still doing here?" he demanded.

Morgana shook her head wildly, moving her lips only to feel the scratch of air in her throat. _What happened to my voice?_

His eyes glanced quickly over, landing on the red that dyed the leaves under her. Around his arm was a scrap of grey cloth, and she watched blankly as he ripped it off. He was bleeding too. Before she understood what he was doing, he threw it at her. The motion looked aggressive, as if he aimed a dagger at her. She scrambled backwards, horrified to find her back against the hill, afraid of the sticking blood that dripped from her dress now.

"Take it," he hissed.

She shook her head rapidly, staring. It was too far away to reach. Her head was swimming again.

"_Morgana_," she blinked. Her vision didn't straighten, but she could have sworn he sounded pleading. When she still didn't move, the next sound she could make out was soft pad of his footsteps, and his broad, unclear form came nearer and nearer to her. Even if she had a voice, she wasn't sure it would have the strength to scream. _He'll kill me. He promised to, he promised he'd kill me…_

"Stay still," his voice was a low growl. And his hands pressed the little cloth to her slashed skin, slowing the blood.

_He's not killing me_.

_His eyes aren't blurry. I can see his eyes._

"You might be almost dead, Morgana," Gwaine's words came out in a rush and she barely registered them. _His voice always sounded so nice_. "But you'll have to keep walking. They're about to search the forest, they're looking for you."

All Morgana could do was cough. She looked frantically back at him, met his clear eyes. _Why are you here_?

He stared back at her then looked quickly away. "Get up," he grabbed her elbow and yanked her to her feet. _Too fast, too fast!_ she tried to cry out, but only a squeak escaped her lips and the world fell away from her eyes in stars, star by colored star. She dropped heavily down and when she heard Gwaine swear she realized that those must have been his arms she fell into. They were warm. _Here is nice, I think I'll stay here_.

"Morgana, you _have_ to leave," Gwaine urged again. "I…" she curled into him, wishing he'd stop talking, she was trying to sleep. "I don't know why I don't let you just die."

He was going to answer her question.

Morgana felt her ears perk up.

"Maybe you deserve to, but you didn't let _me_ die," Gwaine said, his voice coming out fast and unstable. She froze. "You…you kept _listening_. You thought that you were a queen, so you could have killed me, but instead you kept listening. If you were already gone, I don't think you would have done that." Morgana frowned and her eyes started to sting again. She blinked them and turned to look up at Gwaine.

_If I was already gone._

She let him slowly lift her upright.

_I never was_.

"I don't _know_ what's happening here anymore," Gwaine finally breathed, with dry and red eyes, level with hers, "—but I'm sorry." He took her hands with one and used his other to clutch the cloth to her side.

Everything spun for a moment, but Morgana realized she was standing. She gasped and stared back at Gwaine. He looked exhausted. "I'm sorry you ended this way," he whispered.

Even if she had a voice, Morgana didn't know what to say.

She took one of her hands from Gwaine's and tapped the one on her side. He lifted it, and she got a hold of the now damp cloth and pressed it tight with her palm. She let him lead her a foot or two away from the hill before she let go and walked the painful steps herself.

_I won't be able to make it very far. But I'm not dead yet. _

_So I owe it to him_—_to_ all of them—_to try_.

Morgana met Gwaine's eyes. For a moment, they just stood, stuck in the stare she knew so well by now. She felt a panic start to stir in her stomach—everything beyond the stare was unfamiliar territory now, how could she go anywhere without getting lost?

_Thank you._ Morgana nodded slowly at him, steadily as her chin could. Gwaine nodded back and started to climb back up the hill. She watched him, knowing she didn't need to ask what he would do. He'd find the knights. He'd kill her if she came near them again.

When Gwaine reached the top, he turned around and jerked his arm in something like a wave. Morgana memorized him, his sharp face, his glinting eyes, that twisting, unsure mouth, his jaw, shoulders and skin. Framed by the forest, instead of dungeon stone and metal, in him she saw all that had been and could be. She waved back.

He smiled oddly and disappeared behind the hill.

And Morgana kept walking until she collapsed, only to be awoken by a strange clicking purr and a flash of white scales. As she gaped at the tiny creature in front of her, that blinked its bulbous, curious eyes, she felt the pain of her wound seep away. It wasn't going to kill her.

_This isn't over._

_Maybe the dragon was wrong about me, after all_.

The pearly wings skimmed across cloud, sun and sky. Morgana slowly smiled with the corner of her mouth and lifted herself off the ground.

* * *

><p>The End.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Thank you StolenSouls, May Glenn, Wayward Queen, october27, bubzchoc, rawr52, merl7, QueenKordellia, tinylexie, SunnySmile13, ichoosemagic, Jaclynn, LadyDunla, EachPeachPearPlum, Deb and jazzmonkey and xXMistressMadHatterXx who've stuck with this pretty much from the beginning, all of you rock my socks off so. Freaking. Much. <strong>

**I hope you guys loved this as much as I loved writing it. I rarely finish things, so this is something I'm proud of :) **

**If you all are ever bored or out of fics to read, I have a one-shot collection also up on my profile if you want to check it out. The next chapter should be up soon and that one will focus on Gwaine! **

**Shameless self-advertising over.**

**I don't know how much I can say it, but again, thanks you guys. **

**3**

**-Barra.**


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